I am happy to be a member of…
February 2012 – 2018
- "In the beginning there was a void except for the written word." The Avengers (Band)
- Art Stuff Man…
- Book Reading of the Day
- Book Reading of the Day, it's Sunday !!
- Books I Dig
- CDs and anything to review that i want toooooooooooooo!!
- Current Events..
- Dialogue with Breasts more than a sex object.
- Embellished non-fiction short stories
- Holly Duval Cornell's Poems & Prose
- My Red Book by Holly Cornell
- Nature Politics
- PUNK NO-stalgia :Punk Rock
- Records, CDs and anything to review that i want toooooooooooooo!!
- The Daily “FUCK” Gazette
- the Esoteric heart beat…
- The Praying Mantis
Youngest son said, “I think you write because you have something to prove.” I responded, “I just like to write.” Yet he was nicely persistent. “No, I think you have something to prove!” I was not going to conflict his 18-year-old wisdom. He is wise. “I guess I did write my stories now in eBook and paperback formats. I suppose I did prove something?!”
Stop thinking about art works as objects, and start thinking about them as triggers for experiences. (Roy Ascott’s phrase.) That solves a lot of problems: we don’t have to argue whether photographs are art, or whether performances are art, or whether Carl Andre’s bricks or Andrew Serranos’s piss or Little Richard’s ‘Long Tall Sally’ are art, because we say, ‘Art is something that happens, a process, not a quality, and all sorts of things can make it happen.’ … [W]hat makes a work of art ‘good’ for you is not something that is already ‘inside’ it, but something that happens inside you — so the value of the work lies in the degree to which it can help you have the kind of experience that you call art.
~ Brian Eno
Agathos Daimon, the Good or Rich Spirit”. His numinous presence could be represented in art as a serpent or more concretely as a young man bearing a cornucopia and a bowl in one hand, and a poppy and an ear of grain in the other. The agathodaemon was later adapted into a general daemon of fortuna, particularly of the continued abundance of a family’s good food and drink.
“Scientists know that electromagnetic waves carry information. Radio waves are a common example of how information is sent out via electromagnetic waves. The waves that your heart and brain generate carry information that is sent through your body and out into the space around you, just like a radio transmitter. Yet the heart’s signals have much more power.” – The HeartMath Story, as Told by Founder Doc Childre
I’ve heard it said that the soul doesn’t live inside our body but that it is more like a womb in which we are contained.
Turner, Toko-pa. Belonging: Remembering Ourselves home (Kindle Locations 2739-2740). Her Own Room Press. Kindle Edition.
“This disco guy wanted funk in our sound with 10,000 backing vocals, the guy laughed at Tony when he tried to sing, they treated us like shit. Casey wanted to hit that engineer dick…Posh Boy told us not to play games with him, he’d play games with us. That engineer was a real dick.”
~ Steve Soto ADOLESCENTS
In our over psychological culture, psychological testing substitutes for this seasoned eye and prevents its development. Instead of looking, we test; instead of imaginative insight, we read write-ups; instead of interviews, inventories; instead of stories, scores. Psychology assumes it can get at character by probing motivations, reaction responses, choices, and projections. It uses concepts and numbers to access the soul, rather than relying on the anomalous eye of a practiced observer.
Hillman, James. The Force of Character: And the Lasting Life (Kindle Locations 844-847). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
It is the prime task of a truly modern mind to endure both the spiritual and the practical as the framework for her life.
Johnson, Robert A.. She: Understanding Feminine Psychology (p. 80). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition. __________________________________
Mysterious in day’s broad light,
Nature retains her veil, despite our imprecations,
and what she won’t reveal to human mind or sight
levers, screws or hammers
cannot wrench from her. ~ Goethe
Faust part 1
Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.
“And just as the soul that is inside your dust.”
~ Pg 8 The Divine Comedy ~ Dante
“I always liked the intensity of the recording.”
~ Chris Bailey from the band The Saints
“Sometimes people try and tell me what is and isn’t punk, or that GBH do or don’t fit in, but they’re generally no older than my socks, and they know about as much. I’ve lived my life doing what I want the way I want to ever since I got expelled from school. Ever since 1977….That’s punk rock”
~ Ross Lomas: From his Book City Baby.
“As I was walking among the fires of Hell,
delighted with the enjoyments of Genius;
which to Angels look like torment and insanity.
I collected some of their Proverbs. ”
~ William Blake, “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell”, 1790
Category Archives: “In the beginning there was a void except for the written word.” The Avengers (Band)Quote
Two Stories for St. Patrick’s Day
I was not going to tell these two stories about my life. What the hell. I may tell them again. That is the advantage of getting older. We have the ability, knowledge and have earned the right to do so. Coming from a large family I might as well.
St. Patrick’s Day is when my father died only a few years ago. He died at home. The house he lived in for over 6o years. The same one his brother built for him and the land his mother bought for him. He had five children. On the day of his death after my siblings and I watched him pass to the sounds of Frank Sinatra, my choosing, the morticians took him away just like they did my mother a few years earlier. Then siblings and I jumped in our cars and headed for the local pub. The Pickwick on Ventura where we grew up. We ate a hearty traditional meal and drank. The well was closed to us, yet we were not asked to leave. As my dad liked to eat and drink, he also did not want any hypocritical words said about him after his death.
Last year on March 17th, 2019 I went to ER for an asthma attack. My boys had a BBQ and the fumes, and a cold gave way to this torture. Yet, it was only the beginning of my suffering. Along with the Albuterol treatment I was thought to have Pneumonia. I was given some mighty powerful drugs for a little old lady of 61 who stands about 5 foot three inches. I was given Amoxicillin and Prednisone. Once home and breathing I awoke to a train beating in my body, and so the descent into the underworld took me for close to 6 months. The doctors always roll their eyes when I tell them I was raped from the inside. Not being able to swallow solid food. Initiation starts with a type of poison or strange call. I got mine for sure.
A year later I have survived the strange happening. I took many a path to find my way back. I did find it. I met some interesting characters along the way. Also, I learned about the power of our Thyroid ductless gland and the power of the balancer known as our Heart. As I was told…. Pluto loves Persephone. I suggest one never forget this quote even if you do forget my two stories. You may need this quote in case you also find yourself lost in the underworld.
Ides of March
Join with me in the dance holding high my thyrsus
Euripides also writes,
“There’s a brute wildness in the fennel-wands—Reverence it well.”
(The Bacchae and Other Plays, trans. by Philip Vellacott, Penguin, 1954.
Pentheus: The thyrsus— in my right hand shall I hold it?
- Or thus am I more like a Bacchanal?
Dionysus: In thy right hand, and with thy right foot raise it”.
The cult of Dionysus is also a “cult of the souls”; his maenads.
Dancing Maenad Roman copy of Greek original attributed to Kallimachos circa 425-400 BCE at the Metropolitan Museum of Art
“During the life of the garden, women keep a diary, recording the signs of life-giving and life-taking. Each entry cooks up a psychic soup. In the garden we practice letting thoughts, ideas, preferences, desires, even loves, both live and die. We plant, we pull, we bury. We dry seed, sow it, support it. Pg. 100.”
~Women Who Run With the Wolves, Charissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.
I just recently read the above quote. I’m touched when another person understands things that I do but don’t often talk about.
Our one-bedroom apartment in Van Nuys California was a tree fort apartment. The west, north and east sides of our apartment were open. Not being a joined to another apartment was nice. We were right above a parking structure on the second level. No one living overhead us either. To the south a wall was originally shared with a gay black man. He made my husband chicken soup when he was sick. Next came a Hispanic family whose children went to school with our son. A small elementary school on Erwin Street. I walked him to school and back each day.
One year for Christmas I purchased a little rosemary Xmas tree. A small little thing with a red bow. Eventually I planted the little tree in a colorful pot. Placing it right outside our front door. It grew nicely with fresh air and sunshine.
When we moved into a house in the San Fernando Valley, I took that hearty little rosemary bush and planted her in front of our new home. The rosemary plant went through many changes. Droughts, water rainstorms and bad trimmings by gardeners. Twenty years later this evergreen bush is mature and lovely. Being large and full of life and busy bees. Her purple aura now is radiant with the sounds of nature and humming.
Wild Promethean fennel, taken as dry little seeds from the Santa Monica Mountains, is now heading into third generation. I have been sowing the seeds around our yard. As delicately and respectfully as possible! This year I found some youthful green shoots. Distinctly wild Promethean fennel. Add more to my pleasure these green fennel shoots are right next to my mystery Holly Hawk. Her seeds were sown too by you know who?
1977 – 1981 Jimmy Carter, 1981 – 1989 Ronald Regan, 1989 George Bush.
Be More Than An Animal
“Life is not primarily a quest for pleasure, as Freud believed, or a quest for power, as Alfred Adler taught, but a quest for meaning. Pg. 27, Frankl.”
Anarchy, chaos and no government were unending slogans within the punk rock community. Remember this structure. We turned the peace hippie finger symbol into vice, vandalism and violence. Plenty of clubs were destroyed and punks were not asked to come back. We rebelled against authority. The music and lyrics of songs moved us. Our persona as punks defined many of us but not all of us.
Today I see a President who is using these same ideals. Less government, anarchy against our United States constitution. Every day he creates chaos by dividing the people of our republic.
It is strange to me to see this. I am not the young punk I once was. When young I rebelled because I was angry at a world that let me down. I had the freedom to rebel. Other countries do not have this freedom to speak out.
Now as an older woman I see how corruption does not care about the goals of freedom. Without a conscious we have no chance of drawing a line.
As a young punk I developed and learned about compassion, integrity and creativity. I have a moral compass. I have come more to see the world as in a constant state of duality or contrary perspectives.
When Trump uses anarchy, chaos and less government to take from the poor and give to the rich, I rebel.
When Trump and his fossil fuel industry take from the land and give to the rich. I rebel.
When immigrants are housed in cages, similar as a concentration camp, and separated from their children to be sexually abused. I rebel.
When the republican party supports anti-abortion propaganda while taking healthcare away from children. I rebel.
Trump takes the truth and inverts it and surrounds it with emotionalism. A heated propaganda simile. Politicians do play their games, but Trump uses his ministry of propaganda like Paul Joseph Goebbels did. He was a German Nazi politician and Reich Minister of Propaganda of Nazi Germany.
As a young punk I unconsciously searched for the dignity of life. As young punks we questioned the status quo. I guess I am still doing this. It is a good quality to have. I want to believe that most living punks have this insight. A joined movement inside us individually and collectively. An inside continuity. A search for meaning.
I am sure we all see this differently, but this is my perspective. There was something that brought us together.
At a current Youth Brigade show I heard similar words spoken about politics, age and being angry. No longer young punks we are standing up for life as something to believe in. Something is very wrong with our current President.
“Three possible sources for meaning in work (doing something significant, in love (caring for another person), and in courage during difficult times. Suffering in and of itself is meaningless; we give our suffering meaning by the way in which we respond to it. At one point, Frankl writes that a person “may remain brave, dignified and unselfish, or in the bitter fight for self-preservation he may forget his human dignity and become no more than an animal.” ~ Victor Frankl, Man’s Search For Meaning.
I was pulling out the truck to pull in the trash barrels. I was very surprised to hear X on the radio. Especially on 93.1 Jack FM. This radio channel is usually very repetitious with their music.
The last time I saw X live was at the 30-year Golden Voice show.
Recently I have sadly been hearing about Exene Cervenka “Christine Notmyrealname,” in conspiracies as a Trumpian. Yet there has always been a hair of this type of thinking moving through this controversially surviving band.
When I saw them at the Golden Voice celebration, I knew every song by heart. That surprised me and my body went a bit out of control too. The young punk chicks looked so pretty and cool around me. Yet they were giving me a look, as if thinking,
“Who is that old fool?”
I didn’t care and was thinking back at them,
“Just old, like X , and a fan of their music…homies.”
The contraries of life are all around us… and it is perplexing at times.
“she had to leave
all her toys wore out in black
and her boys had too
she started to hate every nigger and jew
every mexican that gave her lotta shit
every homosexual and the idle rich”
X – Los Angeles Lyrics
Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine # 54 The Ten Year Anniversary Issue. (replica)
Another time to remember my mother’s death in a bright way. Love you mom RIP. January 6th.
A rose on the grounds Of the Chapel of the Oaks
Youngest son wanted to take a summer drive. We stopped by the local fast food for a ‘buck iced tea’ and away we flew. Driving up hills that ascended into our imagination as the trail turned our minds. The Yucca plants were standing tall, hidden within the snake turns of the mountains. Familiar objects of man and earth passed us by. The road driven as a waterfall that flowed onto Topanga Canyon Boulevard. Then something winked in my heart to the right of the canyon at Lassen and Valley Circle. The Chapel of the Oaks.
It was bright today. The roses outside, and the stain glass windows inside the Chapel, were radiant. It was positively illuminated. Only one man was in the chapel as we sat down pulled into humbled silence.
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