Poems a different way to communicate to the world. The place of “Who fucking cares” to “Hey I hear what you are saying!”
“…to set forth or offer for attention or consideration…let me pose a question…” /Pen name often used instead Hudley Flipside
“Most people were in bands, if not they did magazines, records, owned stores did artwork etc… it was a scene that begged to be contributed to, and ripe with contributors… X-8 and Tory were in Low Budget, who made their Hollywood debut playing over the Dils at the Whisky, Larry Lashwas in a weird Quick sort of band, Pooch was in a progressive (!) band, and I was their friend, couldn’t play anything, but still wanted to be involved.”
Al Flipside
Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Issue #1 August 2, 1977.
Cover of my electric punk guitar.
I am not a musician. Sure, as a kid I played my parents old player piano. I could hear a song and I then played it on that old lovely musical hardwood black upright piano. My mom got me an acoustic guitar when I turned 16. Along with it was a record to learn chords. I did not follow it through.
I appreciate the lyrics and the sound. I have a knack for listening to the song in a way that is so satisfying to me and as my life went on, I found others like myself. Journalists, fanzine writers and ‘scenesters’ who supported a growing musical world. I will leave the real musicians and their creative genius to themselves. I sure love to hear and feel their songs though.
My dream last night took me to a multilevel club. It had a front door and back door; it had a bar and an outdoor patio. It was very easy to access. I had booked a one-day event to perform. I had my old guitar with me at all times. A guitar a band member gave me, and we had cut out the “Quaker Maid” milk symbol from a large ‘sheet metal sign’ to place on the front of my guitar.
Why I pulled that old guitar I had from the 80s into my dream seems strange to me. I also had my old fender amp.
There was a small stage in the bar where I practiced. Realizing I did not have a clue what I was doing. Yet when I touched my sweet maid, it made a loud punk sound. I thought this to myself while dreaming,
“I am going to go on stage here and play for my friends. Not having a clue what I am doing, I will just improvise … like I always do,”
The first person who greeted me at the door was Shawn Stern. He was drinking a beer and seemed very happy. Then as I walked through the club. The club was peppered with many characters, and I thought to myself,
“I will play a chord from my sweet maid and then read something from an editorial from an old issue of Flipside. Maybe this can be a spoken word event with improvised guitar sounds?”
Hudley, Glen E. Friedman, Shawn Stern, Lee Ving. Taken from Let Them Know 2008; The Story of Youth Brigade and BYO Records. /Stern Brothers.
Outside on the patio I sat with a couple of gals who were talking about another show. I was cool with that and then walked in Cliff Roman.
“The guys at that show were wearing TUXEDOS.”
He had a upside down smile on his face when I smiled at him as I was holding my sweet maid. Cliff was wearing all black with a big oomphy black sweater.
I realized I was at a club without my mask on. It felt so good to be out and about again. No fear and happy to be hanging out at a club again with others.
Then I awoke. I don’t go out to events much now. It seems like I still do in my dreams all the time. This punk rock thing is deep in my psyche!
Today I was looking at all the bullies in my life.
On Facebook I noticed a friend put up a thought. When she was young, she thought she was ugly. Now much older she realizes how lovely she really was. I am glad she found this out about herself.
I hang fabric up to cover half of my windows. I do this to enjoy the shadow and light on the fabric. When the window is open the fabric moves and I often see the texture and fun pattern within the fabric. As one lives a long life one can begin to see shadows, light, texture, and the pattern of one’s life. This is a wonderful ability I have acquired in my life. My insight is reflection the ability to see my life as a pattern with texture and light and shadows.
Elementary school there were two major bullies. Both I followed through what we called Jr. High and then High School. Lisa and Lori were the worst of the worst. They were pretty, popular, and mean to all those who were not part of their click, I always let their image of me influence my self-worth.
Now I know that it was not about me but about them. I do not believe them anymore.
Also, when I had my white mustang Sony, I found instead of everyone enjoying my bliss and best friend. Jealousy took hold and nasty gossip formed. The boy next door started the lies, and this gossip ran its course throughout Jr. High and High School. I cannot even imagine how pungently immoral the gossip was. The collective shadow of peers is a grandiose thing to have to deal with.
Now as a crone an older woman I can look back with a type of disconnection. I like myself now more than I ever have. These new positive feeling shine out and my libido is renewed with hope and creativity. Those old ways burn down and fly away into the underworld of no more.
Like ground up coffee grounds. Fragrant, recyclable and transformed. Soul soil for new possibilities.
Living on the east coast in Rochester New York as a Home Health Aide was challenging work. I went into strange homes with new family customs that I had to learn and respect. I experienced diversity and listened to the stories of mostly older patients.
The family owned a Chinese restaurant. During the afternoon while the family was working, I took care of the matriarch. A mother who had a stroke. I did all I could to make her life as comfortable as I was trained to do. I collaborated with the nurses and physical therapist that visited once a week.
This lady was a rock on what she wanted. She would often hit me. I would let her know that was not appropriate. We would battle it out sometimes. Yet overall, I knew she liked me. I enjoyed her company too.
Her sons brought me a meal from their restaurant for lunch every day. I love Chinese food, so it was an incredibly special treat. Sweet and Sour Pork, lots of greens and noodles.
I was not use to the freezing weather and snow. Living on the west coast my whole life I found driving on black ice especially scary while driving to the home of this family who lived out in the country.
As the patient got better, she no longer needed my service. The day I left this strong woman gave me a gift. She would not take no for an answer and gave me a lovely Asian green sweater with lovely buttons. They were round and covered with a type of enamel with little designs.
I loved it and so when I traveled back home to California it was one of my prized possessions.
I ended up in Santa Cruz California. One night while I went out with my man, I had one too many Grease lightnings. The bartenders at the Poet and Patriate Pub were supplying us with many a pint. Bob and Zachery combined Amestein Lager with Guinness. We coined it “Grease lightning” because once served you had to power it down.
A big biker dude came up to my man and asked,
“Hey John why do you two power down your brews?”
John just smiled and then we walked over to play some darts.
On one of our many adventures playing darts with the local community of poets and patriots, or a few pirates, I got suckered into a conversation with an incredibly sad lady. She was cold on St Paddy’s Day and was not wearing green. I was wearing my green sweater, with green shirt and green shoes. I had plenty of green on. So, I said she could wear it a little while to warm up. The night went on and as I left to the lady’s room when I came back, she was gone and so was my lovely green sweater. I even told her my green sweater story story.
As we left that night to walk home, I heard one last song playing from the pub. One of my favorite Irish tunes. So, I danced the jig in the parking lot next to the pub. Then out of nowhere I swear a large Leprechaun danced awhile with me. We laughed and danced.
Around 1991 John and I sure did have some good nights at that local Pub in Santa Cruz. Wherever the green sweater is I hope whom ever has it is enjoying it’s beauty and warmth.
One of the three sister goddesses known as the three Graces who are the givers of charm and beauty in Greek mythology…. I call upon her now…. we need real beauty….,
I dance with Innocuous Surreal-intrinsic. Deluding its hand around my waste and my throat. The magical things of science the vaccines protect me now. I am grateful.
You may think the story I am about to tell you is a bizarre story, but it is real, we are living it… yes now… it is redundant.
I have foresight. It means I can see things. The Covid-19 and all variants are not what you may think. It lives and expands through our bodies. Spreading from human to human …
If you could see it like I can, I encourage you to change your mind about things. If you are playing it safe, you will understand that what you are doing is for the common good of all human beings.
From another realm the Covid-19 virus is like a vast spider’s web. It takes and expands. It goes around and around. Humans are just a source of temporary expanding blissful glory of this multidimensional expanding life force.
It hovers and attacks those who are unaware and stupid. It can read minds and goes after those who play this death game. Some humans are in on it. They think they have control, and they want other people to die. It is a form of mass hysteria of denial that the virus picks up on. It is not stupid. It wants to survive. Until the very end.
I can see it. My foresight tells me to tell people to beware, be careful… yet they play a lost game of denial, ignorance, and defiance. They tease it. This only makes it hungrier. The common good of humanity is not their concern.
I wait and watch from my cave. Deep grieving I feel. I see it all from my electrical fire. I see the variant spreading. A dancing organismic virus web going around and around… and every time I see it from a distance, it sees me very aware.
I give it the finger because mine is clean and washed, my mask is on and I social distance. That is the one thing this creepy multidimensional monster hates.
I hope you know what this vast nympho wants… close together people, human beings who sweat on each other, jumping up and down against each other. It is a nightmare, Surreal-intrinsic… and all I can do is watch from a distance. Innocuous in my cave around the electrical fire, for now… what a real sickness I see… and now It has me.
‘In the sadness of your smile love is an island way out to sea
But it seems so long ago we have been ready trying to be free.”
John Charles Lodge (20 July 1943 – 10 October 2025) was an English musician, best known as bass guitarist, co-lead vocalist and songwriter of the longstanding rock band the Moody Blues.
The writer reflects on a recent dream of wanting to connect with a band, expressing feelings of grief over lost connections with musicians and friends. They reminisce about the Goldenvoice Celebration, where despite enjoying old friendships, they felt distant from the bands. The author grapples with political concerns as an important election approaches, contrasting ideals of freedom with the potential for poor leadership. They express disappointment over the outcomes of youthful rebellion and emphasize the emotional toll of being just a fan, while recalling the impact of a past election and lamenting the Electoral College.
On Sunset. May 2015. I am wearing my Bernie Sanders T-Shirt for president 2016.
With some punk chicks from a younger generation.
Punk Rock Colleague & Historian
Hudley Flipside
The fabric of prophet’s ages old
Drones on and gathers mold
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 to a grain of sand irritating an oyster or some wondrous 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 knew the smell of their home. Mothers (music venue) linger 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 Theater (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 event 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, bass player of GBH 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 important 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.
Moody Blues:
Husband could not attend the Moody Blues with me, and I couldn’t find someone else on such short notice. I felt too weak to go alone; the parking, crowds, and being by myself didn’t appeal to me at the time. I regret not going.
GBH:
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. My 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 was not on the guest 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 spending time together 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. My 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 met up at other shows.
The continuity of them going to see GBH made me happy. I would have to say the band prefer these beauties then the old punker I have 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 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.”
Origin: Aston, Birmingham, England
My youngest son turned me on to this song. He likes Ozzy Osbourne and may he rest in peace. More inspiration from Birmingham … as my son said to me recently,
March so comes the remembering of from darkness to the light, as the days gradually stretch longer and the cold fades into warmth. It is a time for renewal, where nature awakens from its winter slumber, and vibrant colors begin to paint the landscape once more. With each passing day, the sunlight invigorates the spirit, reminding us of the beauty that lies ahead and the hope that blossoms anew. As we reflect on our journeys, we embrace the transition from the shadows of our past to the radiant possibilities that await us in the future.
“A flash of lightning. Dionysus visible in emerald beauty.“
~ Dithyrambs of Dionysus by Nietzsche…
So my walk during the day as I begin to celebrate… Lizard the Wizard was out to play, and leading the way before me. Only to rush up a tree and circle round it… we did take moments to acknowledge each other…
Photo by Hudley “Lizard the Wizard”
Lenai is another name for Maenad, referring to the lenos, the wine press. The Lenaian vessels illustrate women dancing, making music, carrying the thyrsus, and pouring out wine before a pillar with the mask of Dionysos.
Aguilar, A. Marina. Alchemy of The Heart: The Sacred Marriage of Dionysos & Ariadne . Chiron Publications. Kindle Edition.
And in your hand brandishing your night-lighting flame, with god-possessed frenzy you went to the vales of Eleusis where the whole people of Hellas’ land, alongside your own native witnesses of the holy mysteries, calls upon you as Iacchus: for mortals from their pains.
“On an island in the sun
We’ll be playin’ and havin’ fun
And it makes me feel so fine
I can’t control my brain.”
Two and a half years ago
I made it back
From the darkness…
To light
Today I celebrate
While driving home
From my secret market
The special song came on
my car radio
I remember the first day
I awoke
From the darkness to light
It was such a sight
Wizard the Lizard
Doing arm lifts
Singing
“Hip Hip”
Up and down
“Hip Hip”
On top of the red brick
Next to the Wild Promethean Fennel
The aroma still in my nose
When I heard the beat
I was walking around
along the street
I heard the song Island in The Sun
neighbor kids were rocking out
guitar, drums and singing
In their garage.
Today yes today
Driving home
On the anniversary of
Returning to the light
The song played
On my car radio.
In my brain again
I reached up as
The Promethean Thyrsus
Pulled me up and out
Dionysus declaring to me…
“Hip hip
Hip hip”
“We’ll never feel bad anymore
(Hip hip)
No no (Hip hip)
Hip hip
We’ll never feel bad anymore
(Hip hip)
No no (Hip hip)
Hip hip
We’ll never feel bad anymore.”
*An inscription found on a stone stele (c. 340 BC), found at Delphi, contains a paean to Dionysus, which describes his travels.[98] From Thebes, where he was born, he first went to Delphi where he displayed his “starry body”, and with “Delphian girls” took his “place on the folds of Parnassus”,[99] then next to Eleusis, where he is called “Iacchus.” “
“Dionysos with Sirius in noting the similarity of the words Iachos (a Cretan variation on the name Bacchus) and Iakar, the Minoan name for Sirius. Finally, the ancient Greeks themselves considered the vine itself to be a gift of the star Sirius.”
Aguilar, A. Marina. Alchemy of The Heart: The Sacred Marriage of Dionysos & Ariadne . Chiron Publications. Kindle Edition.
“SecondSkin is a medical-grade, transparent, adhesive barrier that protects new tattoos. It is latex-free, waterproof, breathable,” and it protects my symbol new tattoo.
Unbelievably as I was standing to start the process with this miraculous artist, David LeCompte, the song by Weezer came on the in house radio PA. I told the Skin Illustrator about the song and the meaning it had to the Thyrsus. He said,
“We played it just for you.” And I replied with a smile,
“A nice synchronicity meaning right now, I am here at the right time and place “
Thyrsus and Maenad.
“There’s a brute wildness in the fennel-wands—Reverence it well.”
“I examined the natal planetary positions for many other similar Promethean figures. For example, I checked at once the case of Percy Bysshe Shelley, since he was so explicitly associated—even identified—with Prometheus, his Prometheus Unbound being the preeminent work on that figure in modern literature. If the thesis that Uranus was actually Prometheus had any validity, the birth chart of Shelley would provide the most obvious test case. I found that, in fact, Shelley was born with the Sun and Uranus in close conjunction.”
Tarnas, Richard. Prometheus the Awakener (pp. 23-24). Spring Publications, Inc… Kindle Edition.
I am enrolled in Zodiac Art Boost Seminar taught by Mat Gleason ~ Coagula Curatorial.
Meeting artists is kind of thrilling, and I am learning from them. I hope good feelings all around are happening.
I am about to approach Uranus Square Uranus February 21, 2021- April 7, 2021. As so defined,
“You are being asked to claim some of the glorious wildness that can come only with the perspective of age. Time to drop the last stitch of the world’s phony clothes…”
I saw that Mat was offering the Seminar. I have known him for years and he has always been supportive of me. So, I took a bold jump and enrolled, returning my support of his creative endeavors. Now I am delighted and challenged. I am being drawn back to my interests in Astrology, art and building community again.
I have hidden from Zoom meetings in groups. It is so intimate and up front. I also took the seminar as a move towards socializing again. As an introvert it is easy for me to get lost in music, books, old films and interpreting my dreams.
Here is a classroom assignment that was asked of us. An Astrological Self Portrait of our favorite artists associated with planets in our solar system. I do feel brave again and so the future Zoom meetings have proven to be my colleagues of creativity.
Sun- Me,
Mercury- William Blake,
Venus- Dionysus,
Moon- Bees,
Mars- Mad Magazine,
Jupiter- Hildegard of Bingen,
Saturn- Gahan Wilson,
Uranus- Praying Mantis,
Neptune- Fennel Wand,
Pluto- Nature ( Pluto loves Persephone)
And so I see Uranus and Prometheus…. have been my secret friends of liberation all along. As well as Praying Mantis… and the Fennel Wand…good news.
Autumn always takes on a new flavor of life. Looking for a poem and an image in my vast collection of poems, course essays, watercolor paintings, and photos can be overwhelming.
I looked so different through my 30s, 40s, and 50s. I was round and motherly sometimes with exceptionally long hair. Yet with a family to take care of, I guess I did not worry so much about how I looked. I was healthy. A little depressed about my images but kind of happy with how I look now, which is much different and polished.
I was looking for a poem I wrote in 1989 entitled, The Rose that Fell in Love with the Owl. I thought about this poem due to my current discovery of two clusters in the constellation of Cassiopeia.
Caroline’s Rose or the White Rose Cluster
Caroline’s Rose or the White Rose Cluster and the Owl Cluster are in the same constellation of Cassiopeia. So, the poem popped into my mind. That is one thing I have learned in my old age. My mind is particularly good at holding on to things and analyzing information. I must admit it is a strange poem after typing it up and not having read it for close to 40 years.
The Rose That Fell in Love with The Owl.
The owl to the rose:
Come visit me if you can,
Don’t come if you can’t,
For I won’t be waiting for you,
And don’t be waiting for me.
For I don’t need you,
I don’t want you,
But if you do share yourself,
That is fine with me,
Or not,
I’ll be happy either way.
For your happy, sexy, and warm,
Whether you’re with me or without me,
I’m happy, sexy, and warm,
Whether I’m with you or without you.
For we are two individuals,
I’m an owl and you are a rose,
When together or apart!
Any blending while together,
Is an experience from the heart,
For you care for me,
And I care for you,
But don’t want me,
And don’t wait for me,
For you are wanting to hold me,
Is like grasping ambiguously,
In the dark.
Watch my wings glimmer,
As I fly away.
And you’re needing to be with me,
Is only an illusionary warm spark.
The rose took a long gulp of air …
The owl:
“I don’t want to desire or have any expectations for you,
So, don’t want or desire or have any expectations for me.
My simple glance at America … a motif poem about human vulnerability!
ICU intensive. 4 patients sick with COVID19.
All on ventilators.
The respiratory team monitors the machines as the doctors do online visits.
Nurses attend to bodily functions as CNAs change diapers and turn patients.
Janitors and the full team wear special gear sterilizing everything. The CNAs are watching for bed sores and making sure patients are comfortable and clean.
We have a black woman who is a strong supporter and protested on the streets for Black Lives Matter. Jane is 34 a single mother with 3 children.
Next to her is Daniel. He is a southern Baptist who was attending services when his community came down with COVID19. Many are fine and only three died. He misses his grandchildren.
Tom is a single young man in his 30s and is a professional federal agent who contracted the virus at a community protest. He was called in by an underground community alert squad who asked for protection. He was only there to monitor the situation. Their city was inundated by people hanging out all hours. Graffiti all over and businesses are closed due to protests, looters, and the virus. The local business community and residents want the protesters to go home.
Dan is also extremely sick he is one of the unidentifiable vigilantes. Local small businesses raised funds to have these military people around to protect their businesses and communities. He was born in India and his family lives locally. They are also fearful and want their communities back. The protesters and media have labeled them fascists.
Meanwhile alleys are filled with human waste and trash from endless nights where people ignore curfew.
The news is showing statistics as we view a monitor as the COVID19 rates are increasing day by day.
A child of 12 views this same video with her father as they are sheltering safe at home. He lost his job as a chef at a local restaurant.
Together they both try and understand why the virus is spreading as the doctors’ state clearly.
“Don’t hang out in groups or clusters of people, if you must go out wear a mask. Don’t pull it down to scream.”
The 12-year-old thought that was funny but was told by her parents that she will not be going to school this semester. She wants to go swimming at the local beach because she sees so many there on the TV monitor. Her mother says,
” lets run through the sprinklers in our backyard where we are safe.”
The 12 year old is learning about responsibility and caring for others. Her mother is a journalist and works online.
Her parents are struggling as many are, yet they are doing their part not to spread the virus.
They wear masks and practice social distancing! They will not be given their tax break for having a K-12 school age child this year because they refuse to let their child go to school.
A tent is arched under a freeway. A homeless man watches as protesters take over his town. He does not care what their political persuasion is.
My simple glance at America … a motif poem about human vulnerability!
ICU intensive. 4 patients sick with COVID19.
All on ventilators.
The respiratory team monitors the machines as the doctors do online visits.
Nurses attend to bodily functions as CNAs change diapers and turn patients.
Janitors and the full team wear special gear sterilizing everything. The CNAs are watching for bed sores and making sure patients are comfortable and clean.
We have a black woman who is a strong supporter and protested on the streets for Black Lives Matter. Jane is 34 a single mother with 3 children.
Next to her is Daniel. He is a southern Baptist who was attending services when his community came down with COVID19. Many are fine and only three died. He misses his grandchildren.
Tom is a single young man in his 30s and is a professional federal agent who contracted the virus at a community protest. He was called in by an underground community alert squad who asked for protection. He was only there to monitor the situation. Their city was inundated by people hanging out all hours. Graffiti all over and businesses are closed due to protests, looters, and the virus. The local business community and residents want the protesters to go home.
Dan is also extremely sick he is one of the unidentifiable vigilantes. Local small businesses raised funds to have these military people around to protect their businesses and communities. He was born in India and his family lives locally. They are also fearful and want their communities back. The protesters and media have labeled them fascists.
Meanwhile alleys are filled with human waste and trash from endless nights where people ignore curfew.
The news is showing statistics as we view a monitor as the COVID19 rates are increasing day by day.
A child of 12 views this same video with her father as they are sheltering safe at home. He lost his job as a chef at a local restaurant.
Together they both try and understand why the virus is spreading as the doctors’ state clearly.
“Don’t hang out in groups or clusters of people, if you must go out wear a mask. Don’t pull it down to scream.”
The 12-year-old thought that was funny but was told by her parents that she will not be going to school this semester. She wants to go swimming at the local beach because she sees so many there on the TV monitor. Her mother says,
” let’s run through the sprinklers in our backyard where we are safe.”
The 12-year-old is learning about responsibility and caring for others. Her mother is a journalist and works online.
Her parents are struggling as many are, yet they are doing their part not to spread the virus.
They wear masks and practice social distancing! They will not be given their tax break for having a K-12 school age child this year because they refuse to let their child go to school.
A tent is arched under a freeway. A homeless man watches as protesters take over his town. He does not care what their political persuasion is.
Even he wonders about the situation. No one is leaving coins in his cup. He wears a mask and practices social distancing. As he always has. He is hungry.
Even he wonders about the situation. No one is leaving coins in his cup. He wears a mask and practices social distancing. As he always has. He is hungry.
Watercolor illustrations of the Praying Mantis as symbolism in my art holds meaning in a refreshing way. It is meant to be humorous, provocative, and honest. I have practiced the Crone’s Crowning ritual for years now. It is seeing death on the same terms as transformation. One and the same, yet the idea of transformation is easier to deal with than death.
I have been working on this project for some time and waited until the summer solstice to complete. This ritual is part of the native American medicine wheel of nature.
It is helpful in times of change, pain, and grieving. All about transformation and death, yes, we are all going through a type of world initiation, making this small offering to help others seems a creative opportunity to share from the inside out. Where the feminine and nature come tighter together to heal.
It is almost as if humanity is collectively going through a civil war between the ego and the psyche, science and religion, common sense, and emotionalism.
As I watch big black bumble bees take nectar from the praying mantis tree of purple and green… I can see that nature is consistent and dependable.
I look out the computer room window, my cave. and wonder and talk with the crones from the four directions.
To U.S. Representative for California’s 28th congressional district Adam Schiff
I see an illuminated bright five pointed star Over the emotional ocean Of black and greasy-greedy oilThe light moving upon this darkness Wavering leaps of sparkling exuberance.This star ascends as the current below moves like the waves of a darkened Depressed ocean. Shall we focus on the star For the exuberance is likeA cleaning soapA detergent affirming justice The Eagle is scrubbed clean.I see an illuminated bright five pointed star I hear the waves of the ocean Calling to break theEagle clean.Returns the rhythm to the rogue wavesI see justice there hearts are buoyantUpon that black and greasy-greedy oilawareness and mindfulnessThe Eagle is scrubbed clean!
My heavenly shower is a sacred place of hot, warm or cold water. It is there for me in worst of times bones ache and chills of fever cleaning a dark soul quality away. I sing, talk and compose there I talk to my medicine animals there and say my prayers. It is an old shower with a whacked head yet the water cleans me inside and out my holy shower that sings me sweet words.
At 5AM the alarm went off. Not that sleep was possible at this camp.
Whispers , crying and bolts of laughter were a constant noise here. Breakfast was served in the big house. Dark wooden tables and chairs lined up two hundred youthful, assumed rebels in a large cafeteria.
No light in the room did not help take away from the declaration of order and obedience.
The cool chair-wood felt good against her skin. At first this 13-year-old rather small girl let the bullies take her gruel! A pat of butter and a quarter cup of cream is all these youths got.
One day she suddenly grew wise for now as soon as she sat down, she quickly put her butter in her mouth. Then she slowly sucked the rich fat around her mouth before she spat it back into her cream dish. She did this as her eyes scanned and confronted any bullies around her.
Drip drip as the fat-warden looked away. Then this milky fat, now a delicious homogeneous cream butter, topped her gruel. She mixed it up with her spoon and then ate it down. None of the other hungry girls took her food again.
The first time she got food wise a bully smiled starry eyed looking to the heavens above while whispering in her ear,
