Tag: Art

Innocuous Surreal-intrinsic

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….,

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 cleaned and watched, 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…

My Punkalullaby

Excerpt from MY PUNKALULLABY a paperback Memoir

I fell into the punk underground, but I was not a groupie or reject from an earlier

music scene. I was one with the punk scene,

and I tumbled into the mystery of it. I had a

voice again like I did when I was that young

tomboy. The punk scene was like Halloween,

Christmas, horror films, and freedom all at

the same time. Overwhelmed, I felt as though

I was in A Midsummer Night’s Dream,

mimicking Puck— taking on the images that

were around me without question.

I was becoming one with my punkalullaby. I coined the word punkalullaby.

It means that the whole time I was in the

punk rock scene, from beginning to end, it

was all about a song. One song to the next

pulled me throughout the scene. Once that

loud music got into my blood there was

nothing like it. I was socially awkward, wild,

and morally uncultivated. I was a perfect

product for the Los Angeles punk rock scene

because I was someone that the normal

culture had completely abandoned. Yet, here I

was, welcomed into an underground

counterculture.

It was my turn to create a name for

myself. I became a punk rocker. I would spit

in your face if I hated you. I’d hit you if I

loved you. For the first time in my life I felt

power.

I cut my hair, painted my nails black and lips Revlon Blackberry.

My bellbottoms

were thrown out and replaced with black

straight legs. I shopped at thrift stores and

navy surplus stores for my clothes.

For twenty dollars, I could buy a

complete wardrobe. I wore cowboy boots or

rain boots. I collected badges and put them

on my shirts. These badges were of local

bands and images that were important to me!

I started buying punk rock records and

listening to punk rock music and continued to

listen to the radio.

Wicked Men

Alexis Zorba: God has a very big heart but there is one sin he will not forgive. [slaps table] If a woman calls a man to her bed and he will not go.

I viewed two films last night. The films are Wicked Woman and Zorba the Greek. They are in general both particularly excellent films. One is a 1950s film noir and the other is a cultural film from the 1960s.

Each film captures a time in history. A snapshot of how things may have been. Characters in both films are believable, realistic while also having a diabolical and magical edge.

As a woman a motif came forward that bumped up against my conscious feminine. Both films are from a winning male psychology. The men can fuck up, screw up, cheat, lie and even kill. They get away with it and so a happy ending for them. The women on the other hand always get the short end of the stick. They get let down, lied to, abandoned, used, and killed.

In the film Wicked Woman Beverly Michaels as Billie Nash is an independent woman who is on the move to find a place to put her roots. Roots within a man and a place in the sun. Billie keeps playing One Night in Acapulco by Buddy Baker, on the jute box. She is tall, smart, and has a graceful walk. Men are after her the whole time. The one time she focuses in on a man he takes her, and they plan a sinister plot that falls through. Richard Egan as Matt Bannister gets off the cheating hook and Billie is blackmailed, seduced and must split on a bus. She must beat it.

She is the Wicked Woman that gets the blame. Billie is smart and helpful, yet the man traps are all around her. As a bar server she is wise with her words as every man tried to get her. She even helps her victim drink all the booze she wants even though her husband says no. This bar did not have mixed drinks only shots and beer. I like Billie’s character and understand her. As a woman I cannot tell you how many times I had to take the short end of the stick and leave on a train or bus for something I did not do. Even if she is guilty so is Matt and his drunk ass wife. Even Matt’s alcoholic wife sides with her husband over her friendship with Billie. I think that the two dames in this film should have been wise by telling Matt to go screw. They could have sold the joint and headed for Mexico. To lie in the sun a little bit, drink and have fun. As Billie said. “They like women with Blonde hair and light skin” in Mexico.

Anthony Quinn as Alexis Zorba is our male Zorba the Greek. The film is a cultural phenomenon. It is what it is in an absurd way with a very excellent soundtrack. The hard edge Greek patriarchy is saturated with tradition. A village that is self-sufficient with a thread of history and honor. Every man in this film is an asshole except the fool. Zorba is a creative natural genius that has a compassion that is appropriate at times. He teaches Sirtaki to Alan Bates as Basil. A wonderful Greek dance which shows how Zorba relieves his pain of living life while confronting death. Charming in a way.

Lola, Madame Hortense, and the Widow are parts of this film if only indirectly put among the friendship between Basil and Zorba. It is correct when Zorba tells Basil that the whole town of men are jealous, and all want the widow. A lovely young thing.  Kind of like all the men wanting Billie in the Film Wicked Woman. In this case the lovely young woman is trapped, stoned and then has her throat cut. Premeditated murder by a whole community of men and their old crone women. They are jealous of her youth and beauty. Madame Hortense dies in this film thinking she is married to Zorba to cover up for his earthy affair with a younger woman named Lola. Regardless of this unbelievable cruelty the men dance away their pain.

These two films are part of the winner male psychology. As a young girl growing up, I had this crap dumped into my sensitive unconscious psyche. This kind of male world. I am glad I am wise to it now. I can enjoy these films for their place in history. Yet, I wanted to affirm they are playing against the feminine rules.

Man, at bar, “How about having a drink with me?”

Billie, “I can’t it’s against the rules.”

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We must explore!

The Naked Grace…

These times are asking us to go within. Over the generations we have taken this journey within. By choice, by accident and spiritually. Through drugs, side effects from prescribed medication or by magic.

A song can amplify this reality. A writer can share the experience. Songs filled with lyrics are poetry put to music. The images come forth and touch us. These three songs came to mind today when I was out in the garden pulling tall grass from the rich soil. It all came together. The dark earth holds things. Pulling on the grass and releasing the soil is a forward effort of movement. The dark moist earth has a relationship with our psyches.

I believe that unless we willfully take this inward journey as an individual it will be forced upon us. On a personal level or a generational level is how it goes. Anytime we suppress our shadow, blame others, or spread hate it is bound to a generation. Are we not observing this right now? Songs can help us. I need them like I need flowers in my garden or kitty cats to hug.

Here are three songs that explain this journey variable. From the 1960s Catch the Wind by Donovan is a peaceful song.  Dead Man’s Party by Oingo Boingo is an amazing song that shares some interesting historical mysteries.  The Forbidden Zone by Charged GBH, one dose and you take their hand into a strange journey of a musician’s psyche.

♦Donovan is an unusual songwriter and folk singer that touches upon the light side of our psyche. He reminds us to remember the beauty in life. It is around us and in us if we go looking for it. Our psyches do often look back at us. We can reflect on this soft beauty from time to time.

“When sundown pales the sky

I want to hide a while

Behind your smile

And everywhere I would look, your eyes I’d find.”

♦Oingo Boingo’s song is remarkably interesting and worth listening to intensely. As a young punk back in the late 1970s I had an Oingo Boingo badge on my jacket. I was approached by a couple of punk chicks who mocked me and belittled me for wearing it. A time when the first signs of punk cultism started to show its ugly face.

“I was struck by lighting, walkin’ down the street

I was hit by something last night in my sleep

It’s a dead man’s party who could ask for more

Everybody’s comin’, leave your body at the door

Leave your body and soul at the door.”

“For Crowley, who was a painter himself, the artist ranked above the magician on the totem pole of illumination, and he considered poetry and art as precious tools for transforming one’s innermost psychic visions.” Chapter Spencer Kansa, Pg. 92 Wormwood Star, The Magickal Life of Marjorie Cameron.

♥A wild journey inward to the shadowy psyche is found in the book City Baby from Highgate to Hawaii… Life, and GBH by Ross Lomas.

“This went on for hours. More and more of the same. It was incredibly intense. God and Jimi and Anne Carpenter and the devil and the fucking taxi driver, fighting over my soul right up to the point I passed out in exhaustion.” ~ Chapter neil sedaka, Pg. 120.

“Take my hand and we’ll explore,

The forbidden zone.

When you’re in your own tree,

But don’t know if anybodys home.”

Jimi Hendrix was playing guitar while Anne was a nun of salvation may show us that his journey was amplified by many elements as a fight for his soul. When the shadow opens to us it is always a powerful trip. I find that Ross most likely is stronger for his experience. A bite like this prepares us for real outward tragedies as we are facing today.

A hippie kills a punker

Life can be many things at once. Goodness and badness, light and dark, friends and enemies. These are the polarities that we are facing currently in our world of extremes.  Even though there is a third path, as in the fact, regardless bees are still making honey. Just go outside and find a bush with flowers. If you live in the very cold you may have to wait until spring. Here is California my hanging rosemary is going to town. The sound of bees is my convent to the earth. My repetitious theme song is by 10 Years After, If I Could Change The World. Redone by another band more on the punk side. So here we come to the core of my focus. The 60s, and the late 70s, and 80s. A decade each.

The 60s were an amazing time for free thinking and youthful rebellion against corruption. A sick government and a terrible war. Yet in this illuminated time darkness was born by the name of Trump. Likewise, the 80s a new music scene revolutionized forward with unclassified music that became divided and classified. Still mighty awesome. Then we have the general Qassim Soleimani who was just assassinated, who was born as a prime one for the punk scene.

Donald Trump born June 14, 1946 (age 73). He was prime for the 1960s as his youthful young adult time. Hippie time. Now we have the general Qassim Soleimani who was born March 11, 1957. He was born at a prime time for the genesis of the punk rock phenomenon. A punk.

The most creative times and inspired times in history the dictators are born. In the darkest times and in a vacuum of hate the best are born that humanity has to offer this troubled earth. In generational time frames a hippie kills a punker.

Nonetheless, do not lose sight of what is now happening right now.  We have a few knights rising to the call. I can see their light crescendos in the darkness. Very androgynous like most bees.

The Calendar

Sigrid Hudson Bishop

“Eternity interrupts. It is as if there is a plane where there is clock time and then eternity puts its hand in for a minute and you have an archetypal experience. You have a feeling of what Jung said was “the infinite, “and then very often the watch reacts to that.” ~ The Palace of the Cat: The Cat Marie-Louise Von Franz.

This is a short story about a friend. I find the best friends are not the ones that you make yourself but are the ones that find you. They stand the probability of time. They happen without planning and endure without much effort. She was like that. I first met her online on Facebook. We had common friends of friends. She was also interested in music as well as William Blake and Carl Jung. She showed up at my first speaking event at Whittier College.

Later she told me about a Punk event at UCLA college that I applied to and was accepted at. She was there for me and I shared many stories and my creations with her.

I think I inspired her to go to Pacifica Graduate Institute offering degrees in the clinical psychology, counseling, mythological studies and depth psychology.

At this time last year 2018, she offered me an extra William Blake calendar. I accepted it with honor. Every day I looked at the calendar and thought of her. Happy to have such a friend. Remarkable I am taken back by the last image of the calendar of The Archangel Michael Foretelling the Crucifixion.  She passed away this December 2019.

I am a weird Christian mystic in many ways. I learned that the crucifixion is symbolic of a person’s day of release from their physical body.

As friends, have our souls not spoken to each other?

I think so.

“They looking back, all th’ Eastern side beheld

Of Paradise, so late thir happie seat,

Wav’d over by that flaming Brand, the Gate

With dreadful Faces throng’d and fierie Armes:

Som natural tears they drop’d, but wip’d them soon; [ 645 ]

The World was all before them, where to choose

Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide:

They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow,

Through Eden took thir solitarie way.

~Book 12 Paradise Lost; Milton.

To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wildflower Hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. ~William Blake

Saturated English Angelic Youth Gone Wild

Seeing the Buzzcocks live at the Santa Monica Civic around 1979 was utterly amazing. Another Music in a Different Kitchen (1978), Love Bites (1978), and A Different Kind of Tension always were in the air so seeing them live was so exciting. The Spiral Scratch (EP) was a favorite of mine. The lyrics of Break Down are phenomenal and so infused in my DNA. Maybe a whole generation in their early 60s are experiencing melancholy right now!!

Pete: Drunk in our blood of a generation

When falling into. and mad about- the world of Punk Rock, Pete Shelly’s voice framed this new experience with innovative songs and lyrics. “Ever Fallen In Love….”  is one of the songs that I fell in love with. I fell in love with the Los Angeles Punk Scene at the same time as the first time I heard the song. The people, places and record stores everywhere did loudly play the Buzzcocks beyond our fast-thrashing hearts. You would find us running from the Whisky A Go Go on the Sunset Strip to the infamous record store smelling of vinyl Licorice Pizza and then down to the alley for cut-rate canned beer. Three points of forward movement forming a hurricane of friends, music, and pogoing. Pete’s voice and music are the fresh anthem of a growing punk scene. Pete Shelley’s voice and guitar set the stage for a sensitive and poetic revolution of mindset not inspired by many bands to this day. He is always saturated English angelic youth gone wild. Pete Shelly’s voice never grows older though his body did age and die. His music will be at that place where the new-wave-punk-rock-experience is eternal. Unclassified music that is wonderfully bliss!“Oh mum can I grow out of what’s too big for me?

I’ll give up that ghost before it gives up me

I wander loaded as a crowd, a nowhere wolf of pain

Living next to nothing, my nevermind remains

I’m gonna breakdown, I’m gonna breakdown yes

I’m gonna breakdown, I’m gonna breakdown yes”

In its highest sense.

To my friend Dionysus

“According to Jung, humanity holds a special role in creation: to contribute to the act of consciousness, and the point of view of morality, in its highest sense.” ~ Johnson, Robert A. Ecstasy (p. 64) Harper One. Kindle Edition.

Uranus and Jupiter at the threshold…

A Muse named Urania watercolor by Hudley

OK to take this into concurrence, my mind is filled with an old image and a song. I can not keep them from speaking so I will post about them.

Chiron Retrograde Dance

The Infant Bacchus (Dionysus) painting (c. 1505–1510) by Giovanni Bellini.

The Bibliotheca seems to be following Pherecydes, who relates how the infant Dionysus, god of the grapevine, was nursed by the rain-nymphs, the Hyades at Nysa. Young Dionysus was also said to have been one of the many famous pupils of the centaur Chiron. According to Ptolemy Chennus in the Library of Photius,

 “Dionysus was loved by Chiron, from whom he learned chants and dances, the bacchic rites and initiations.” ~~Diodorus Siculus

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bibliotheca_historica