Modern Art Blitz at DROMEBOX
I was amazed to see a small and pretty doorway with a Gothic arch in the middle of the wall, for I could not make up my mind whether this doorway had always been there or whether it had just been made. (8) ― Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
“In eternity there is no time, only an instant long enough for a joke.”
― Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf
Dromebox
Modern Media Blitz
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCSkyJ-GexpZc4ql35REiRTw
I saw the film 20th Century Women last week. It felt like it did when I use to go see bands from the east coast or from overseas. Anticipation filled me.
My two sons came with me. We went to the Arclight Theater near Sunset in Hollywood. The films first day of its release in California.
I talked to a few ladies as they left the theater after seeing the film. They had happy looks on their faces. Profound words filled my ears as I listened to the closing credits buzzing the Buzzcocks lyrics in my ears.
Pete Shelley’s unique voice was singing the song “Why can’t I touch It.” There was an equal number of men at this event as well.
I was not sure if my two sons, who are 16 and 25 would like the film. After seeing it we had a great talk while driving back to the San Fernando Valley. Oldest son reflected on how the film’s director and writer, Mike Mills, answered some questions for him about a few things. About women in general.
This film takes us to a merging of generations. Mike Mills takes this film to a higher place than the usual action films my son goes to see. He compared his film to the film Whiplash. He says both films have quality.
They may not be big media monsters, yet they have something real to say about life that has value. It speaks about real life at a different level.
The archetype that came forth for me in 20th Century Women is the Baubo myth. Currently in our wondrous American culture, I feel that women have been assaulted consciously and unconsciously. Current politics in this country are trying to take a woman’s voice away from the table.
They are talking that taboo talk too. That Demeter, Persephone and Baubo talk from those ancient Eleusinian mysteries. Is it feminism or something more? It is defiantly an ancient archetype where women are sitting at the table.
The women in this film are finding their power in the world. As if a giant ancient powerful beautiful flower opens to us who are watching this film. Baubo is not ashamed to show her private parts.
This film is about so much more too. It is about a mother and her son, friendship and growing up. It also reflects on how men and women can be friends and share in that ideal called equality. They can learn from each other! Hopefully finding this needed equality.
There are images of Maxfield Parrish Paintings, and Jean Nate Bottles in this film that are delightful to catch. Mike Mills is taking it to the next level. I hope we are all listening too. I know that the simple things in life can hold the profoundest mysteries. Yet, this is not a simple film. Either is the experience we call life. Life is a tragedy, drama, and comedy all at the same time, with punk rock as a side kick.
This morning I was on my own. I was early to my destination, so I stopped by a local 7/11 for coffee. It had been five years since entering this store. I also needed to break a twenty-dollar bill that has been in my wallet for a few weeks. While walking back to my car I put two fives in my purse for the event I was soon planning to attend. I held on to the rest. I looked up from my car and saw a black man with a trash bag and a smile.
His hand held open and out to me. I smiled back and walked up to him and asked,
“Is this what you need?”
I gave him some money. He lightly hugged me and kissed my head with a blessing. I smelled the street on him but felt his gentle humanness.
“Are you going to church,” he asked.
“No, an artist is speaking at a local synagogue on creation stories.”
At that moment, a white man in his late sixties yelled something. I looked around at him and assumed that he and the man, I was talking to, were friends. The light changed to a darkness. My heart went from cheerfulness to a confrontation unwanted. This man was saying some strange things to me.
“Did you know that man is a convicted felon. He has a record. I am glad I am here to save you from him!”
This new man’s conduct shocked me. He was rude, aggressive and was insulting this heartfelt, other man. The black man slowly disappeared as a soft breeze. It seemed to me that he was not about to confront or cause any trouble. Yet the white man continued to slowly insult me. He approached me. I told him to step back.
“I am not interested in what you have to say, because you have no evidence that this man has a record. You have no evidence he is a convicted felon.”
“But we have been watching him, the Valley is not what it once was!”
“Who are the “we” you are referring to?
This man did not have an answer. His tongue turned to a mouth of bigotry, hate and slander. He affirmed to me he voted for Trump. I guess he saw my Bernie for President bumper sticker. Was this giving him a justification to verbally attack me?
Today the eyes of heartlessness and political darkness did not recognize the kind hand of humanity. Here in the San Fernando Valley on Vanowen Street.
A few moments later I was in a beautiful synagogue. The irritating confrontation faded. Instead, art, creation stories and depth mythologies enlivened my soul once more.
I learned about an artist today. His name is Mikalojus Konstantinas Ciurlionis.
http://ciurlionis.licejus.lt/index_en.html
As I research this Bannon character, who is about to take over the White House, or become the new Chief of Staff, I see a man with honorable and dishonorable credentials! He is playing the country against itself. All the nasty shadowy things come forth as hate power and helplessness. He plays democrats and republicans against the other. We are being scorched to some unknown place ahead of us.
I have been invited to create a postcard and send it, in opposition of Bannon. Yet, by reading about him I have learned so much more about politics. I cannot say his goals are strangely honorable or dishonorable. He seems like a Hannibal Lecter sort of motivated politician. He seems to want to tear down the system as it is. What value or danger is awaiting “we the people” is not clear to me? He has scorched us.
I will send my postcard. Yet, the contradictory ways of Bannon are strange. But are they? He uses technology and knowledge to manipulate us. His propaganda is meant to awaken a response in us. Edward Bernays knew this by way of Freudian psychology. Not a new game in politics, corporations, or religion.
My postcard will also state an open question to him.
“What is your goal for “we the people?” Are we to be scorched only? You have scorched those in power now! Are you just a Dr. Jekyll -Mr. Hyde evil genius like the newspapers say?”
“You fear the world too much,’ she answered gently. ‘All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off, one by one, until the master passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?”
― Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
Postcard Avalanche to Denounce Bannon
https://www.facebook.com/events/235432800204102/
A weird thing happened while I was watching the Alfred Hitchcock Hour last night. I watched The Photographer and the Undertaker (1965) episode, which I realized I had viewed before, but today it had a new meaning. As I watched the show, I also researched Jack Cassidy. He is the main character of the episode, a original Mad Man character actor. Jack was married to actress Shirley Jones.
After their divorce, he seemed to melt down into alcoholism and mental health issues. I am saddened by my research because to me he always seems like a sharp, upbeat, and intelligent swinger. He has a deep history in music and a brilliant acting career. It is his demise that shocked me.
Shirley Jones & Jack Cassidy
In this episode, or story, Cassidy’s character is a photographer who gets wise to a scheme. Where he is the focus of a hit man. He is scheduled to be killed. Cassidy turns it around and catches the hit man at his own game and kills him instead. To cover the evidence, he burns his darkroom down. In the news it is confirmed the next day. The photographer was burned to death. Cassidy’s character collects the money from the man who hired the hit man and assumes a new life. A great story with some ironic twists and turns.
As I was watching the story unfold, I was thinking how clever Cassidy’s character was, and how he cheated death, something hit me hard. As I watched the flames burn the dark room and the hit man…. I realized something. At that moment I read something profound. Ten years later, in real life, this is how Jack Cassidy dies (1976).
“Cassidy returned to his apartment alone, by which time he was drunk, as he had consumed alcohol at various bars across West Hollywood that evening. In the early morning hours of December 12, Cassidy lit a cigarette and fell asleep on his Naugahyde couch. [11] He then dropped the cigarette, which ignited the couch. The flames quickly spread throughout the apartment and the building. [4] At 6:15 a.m., the blaze was discovered by Deputy Sheriff Jon Dimeter, who evacuated the building and entered Cassidy’s apartment. A charred corpse was found in the doorway of the apartment.”
Wikipedia Note for Jack Cassidy
I felt a terror overcome me. What a strange revelation to perceive. I quickly said a prayer for the man. Last night he whispered a short story in my heart of his ironic demise.
Last night I went to a local event at the Commons in Calabasas, where I had the pleasure of immersing myself in the vibrant atmosphere filled with community members and fellow enthusiasts. The event was presented at a Barnes & Noble in the San Fernando Valley, a beloved hub for book lovers, creating a cozy yet engaging setting. I enjoyed browsing through the eclectic selection of books on display and connecting with others who shared my passion for literature. The evening not only provided an opportunity to discover new titles but also fostered a sense of camaraderie among attendees, making it a memorable night in our local community.
What a wondrous event. It was fun. It was local and I won the costume contest. (I was the only one wearing one too) I was not expecting it nor had it entered my mind to win. I was just being myself as I always am….
A happy night for us… a random thing to do with my son before Halloween… I am so glad we went. To hear dramatic readings of Edgar Allan Poe was a live treat!
I don’t travel far these days to go to shows. I feel the need to support my local community. For years I have supported a wide range of events a far. Now I tend to enjoy my hometown very near.
Near the beginning of the Los Angeles river were I use to go dancing and drinking as a teenager, I now enjoy the shadowy delights of the few days before Halloween, with my son. What a treat!!
http://www.spotlightthearts.org/fright-night-edgar-allen-poe
Someone, a few or many is / are looking through my work here steadfastly.
It is a little discerning to me. Yet as I notice old posts being read, I can edit them and brush off the dust.
This is one of my favorite adventures in my understanding of real power of female energy which is being called upon right now to help women in our current culture.
I call on her power as well to defeat the bastards and also now conservative bitches who oppress women in any way.
All Women, Their bodies their minds and their wills. All women need to be given back the right to their own bodies.
I call upon the Holy Baubo
her impressive mythology
her power will conquer.
bringing justice for all women.
“But you have the beauty and strength of love on your side. And if we can find a sense of humor, too, these are the weapons of the angels.”
~ A Summer Place.
Walking into the small misty temple, I at once noticed the stained glass window. I sat on the tree stump. The image was enhanced by a crescent shape design and by a few candles flashing colorful red, gold and purple flames. I took to memory the message. I knew it was true.
My search to find the great Baubo, the Holy Baubo, had failed again. Yet, her new message was presented to me in the reflective glass widow image.
She was to do it. At the beginning. She had to defeat those evil bastards…
Note 2/16/2024
Cornwall on the Celtic Sea.
Today I am reflecting on one of my favorite posts. To me that this original short story, novelette by Daphne du Maurier, is based in Cornwall on the Celtic Sea is amazing to me.
Before I studied my great grandfather’s book, CAPPEN JAN JAKE: A CORNISH TALE, and now as an older adult, I have the insight or Cornish character to understand such things. I never really took notice how he lived in Cornwall on the Celtic Sea when I was younger.
I guess something in me made the connection between publishing his book again and reflecting on the original story by Daphne du Maurier.
My great grandfather always stayed close to the water. Be it the ocean or Mississippi or Missouri river. He traveled that way too.
I hope someday to take that journey. From California on the Pacific Ocean, where I live, to Cornwall on the Celtic Sea.
Mrs. Bundy: Birds have been on this planet, Miss Daniels, since Archaeopteryx, a hundred and forty million years ago. Does not it seem odd that they would wait all that time to start a… a war against humanity.
~ Film, The Birds
I recently watched Alfred Hitchcock’s film The Birds. The film is based on the novelette by Daphne du Maurier. The screenplay written by Evan Hunter and Ed MacBain, and both, the film, and the story, are vastly different.
Yet, both have similar and highly symbolic connections that are fascinating. Equally, the film and story do not use the symbol of the moon as a word or image. Indirectly, the moon is the main hidden movement in both. The birds are the “Sturm und Drang” (“Storm and Stress)’ in the film and story.
I remember when I first viewed The Birds on TV! About the age of the little girl Cathy Brenner. I thought the film was scary. Friends and I often pretended and played scenes from the film. We ran down hills of golden green frightened by our imaginary fierce birds.
“Cathy Brenner: When we got back from taking Michelle home, we heard the explosion and went outside to see what it was. All at once, the birds were everywhere. All at once, she pushed me inside and they covered her. Annie, she pushed me inside.”
I want to make an interesting point about the film, it is a film more about relationships between women then about the birds. In the film one finds a maiden, mother, and crone. Annie Hayworth is the sexy maiden where Lydia Brenner is the mother.
Ethel Griffies plays the old crone “ornithologist.” The interesting character of Melanie Daniels plays a female goddess of the moon. She is mysterious, magical, intuitive, and carries love birds to her desired man.
“Melanie Daniels: I thought you knew! I want to go through life jumping into fountains naked, good night!”
In the novelette by Maurier an indirect influence of the moon is always applied. As narrated by main character Nat Hocken, the ocean tide influences the action of a variety of birds. He works on a farm and describes his knowledge of the land and the sea. He is knowledgeable of all the birds in his environment. He is one of nature and his knowledge is as wise as the ornithologist Ethel Griffies from Hunter’s screenplay.
“The species included blackbird, thrush, the common house-sparrow, and, as might be expected in the metropolis, a vast quantity of pigeons and starlings, and that frequenter of the London River, the black-headed gull.”
Both film and story indirectly show evidence of the influence of the moon, as the phases of a woman’s life, or the ocean tide. The uncanny attack of the birds is an unconscious one. It is a dynamic pull by the moon at Bodega Bay California or England at a bay of Cornwall on the Celtic Sea. Both film and story hold interesting perspectives.
A wonderful film to see and an exceptional story to read.
“The lull in battle was because of the tide. There was some law the birds obeyed, and it was all to do with the east wind and the tide. He glanced at his watch. Nearly eight o’clock. It must have gone high water an hour ago.
That explained the lull: the birds attacked with the flood tide. It might not work that way inland, up country, but it seemed as if it was so this way on the coast. He reckoned the time limit in his head. They had six hours to go, without attack. When the tide turned again, around one-twenty in the morning, the birds would come back…”
~ Daphne du Maurier, Pg. 523-527.
The Saturn-Neptune Conjunction in Each Sign (2025-2026)
“Now the people from all times have been aware of the movements of the planets, in particular the sun and moon, but now they relate these movements to a mathematical system. I think this is probably the most important transformation of the notion of the universe in the history of human consciousness.”
~ pg 72 Goddesses, Mysteries of the Feminine Divine by Joseph Campbell
It is a given that the Planets have a way that is unique on to them and if you follow their stories, or not, that is ok by me. I can’t help but listen to their stories and their “angle of the dangle,” because it is kind of hard not to notice their patterns! Since the beginning of civilization there has been a vast number of studies about the planets.
It is quite amazing to me that so much knowledge and wisdom is associated with the planets. I am not an expert on the subject, but I am an ‘intuitive’! I understand nature. I understand that the planets play a part in the big picture.
It is a civilization “individuation process” on a big scale. Yet, as subtle as a butterfly in one’s backyard, or the understanding of the sorrowful feelings of a child when they first learn that bullies suck! The same difference is the key to understanding their stories. This is a humanities’ story too.
Today I focus on all this hullabaloo over Saturn square Neptune.
I have found a perfect song for Neptune and another for Saturn, which expresses my inward feelings about these two-character building planets. It is the blending in me that I enjoy. Sometimes I stress over the shadows that Neptune and Saturn manifest in their creative dark stories. Yet, I say hello Saturn and Hello Neptune. And so, their story continues….and so too it is humanity here to acknowledge their existence. We listen to their patterns, mathematical system, and stories.
To Neptune
To Saturn..
Michael Conley 1959 to 2008, Band M.I.A.
Photo by Kurt Porter
2/28/2023
I just got back from walking around the block in the rain. I love night walks, especially when they allow me to reflect on moments that have shaped my life, and tonight, I found my thoughts drifting to Mike. He was one punk singer who made an indelible impression on my experiences and memories.
I remember a particular moment back in 2008, a time when I was deeply immersed in writing My Punkalullaby memoir. I was in the midst of recalling stories about Mike when I received an unexpected call from Nick, another member of the band MIA. His voice carried the weight of news that felt unfathomable—Mike had died.
The timing was staggering. Just as I was cherishing the memories of Mike and his music, Nick’s call brought forth a wave of overwhelming sadness. In that instant, it struck me how intertwined our lives were with the rhythms of music, friendship, and the passage of life. Looking back, I realize what a powerful and bittersweet moment that was, one that I feel compelled to share now.
The magic of music, friends, and life—and the inexplicable nature of what lies beyond—makes me ponder the connections we share with those who have passed. There’s something profoundly comforting in the belief that some of these punk friends who have died are watching over us, still somehow part of our lives and experiences. Perhaps they resonate in the chords of the songs we listen to and through the shared memories that linger in our hearts. It’s a beautiful thought that brings solace amidst the grief, a reminder that though they may be gone, their spirit and influence live on within us and in the music we cherish.
I remember Mike’s eldest daughter Alex Conley, explaining at his funeral, how her dad always had to play his music loud, be it in the house or in the car. She did not seem to get it, since they had headphones.
Today youngest son is acting like a know-it-all teenager. He knows all about art and rock & roll. A stick up his ass. Like an old fart art curator or rusty rock band member.
Me, I am just Mama Kin… I don’t know a thing.
I stopped to drop him off at his college art class. Before he got out, he turned down the music, changed the channel to Jazz, and closed the door. I then changed the channel back to rock & roll, turned up the music loud while spinning tires, and raced away.
Mike Conley came to mind. I was then really sitting with his ghost as this song came on.
It is cool man. Time for a cocktail. I enjoyed a ride with Mike Conley today.
Youngest son is my friend regardless… we both like rock & roll, art, and fast cars. He is a son, and I am a mom.
Mike was a good punk friend or maybe Punk Colleague on the wild side of my exuberant youthful life.
He is welcome to visit any time!
December 1979 is around 37 years ago. A very tight and small club of mutual fans, promoters and band members were a rebellious team.
Before Henry Rollins galore, when the underground punk scene was unique, new, and growing as wildfire. I swear our agenda was as sincere and planned as peeing on the walls.
I used to take a few photographs back in the day as the shift from Hollywood to Orange County became the thing like a large earthquake. Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine was there hanging with the scene. Drunk and wild as a windblown day.
I just signed an agreement to releases an image I took a long time ago about the punk scene for a film called “20th Century Women.”
The image is my intellectual property. Some day when, hopefully, my grand-kids or great grand kids are viewing this film they may take to heart what their “grand ma ma” did for an underground punk scene. It feels good to share history with a company that respects my rights.
They pursued me with respect and integrity. It feels particularly good in the scheme of my life. There are many stories from THE BIG PUNK ROCK, this is mine.
The photograph is of Black Flag at the Church with Keith Morris singing after they had officially broken up, a unique photograph is the photograph that I have licensed today.
It is not about the money, it is about how I am still amazed that anyone would care about a hot, sleazy, little underground church basement in some place called nowheresville some 37 years ago… because we knew at that time, at that time & place, that no one cared!
I am amused that this lost sentiment has changed. I am happy to sign this agreement today.
New 2026: Just Click on the image for a print on demand Tee-Shirt.
A interpretation song by some guys from the bomb shelter… entertainment by
The PEASANTS and the Rusty Blade…
Something is terribly wrong with this image… off… yet the shadow is a nasty fool…
http://hudleyflipside.com/flopsdie-comics/meet-the-flopside-family/
https://hudleyflipside.com/flopsdie-comics/
IN AN ALLEY FAR FAR AWAY… IN ANOTHER TIME…. PLACE AND ZONE…
Prometheus Unbound, man is defined as “one harmonious soul of many a soul, whose nature is its own divine control.”
~ The Selected Poetry and Prose of Shelley edited, with introduction, by Carlos Baker.
http://www.ancient.eu/Prometheus/
“… Poetry strengthens the faculty which is the organ of the moral nature of man [imagination] in the same manner as exercise strengthens a limb.”
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley
“The secret of morals,”
says the essayist,
“Is love; or a going out of our own nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own. A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively…The great instrument of moral good is the imagination: and poetry administers to the effect [ moral good] by acting upon the cause [imagination].’ Poetry enlarges the circumstance of the imagination by replenishing it with thoughts of ever new delight, which have the power of attracting and assimilating to their own nature all other thought.”
~ Shelley
Promethean Fennel poem by Hudley
Even “more than asshole” people make some good points… global economy or USA economy… this is a complicated and tricky question. Agendas are secretive and sensitive, profitable to some, political, debatable, and this is a fucking sucky editorial.
Taxes vs corporations, taxes vs “WE the people”, cheep labor in other countries and empty streets, no work for US citizens.
It is not that bad, it is not that good… but politics suck because we have to remember to look into the real agendas behind the politics…
bad guys are good guys… and good guys are bad guys… confusion…
A gift to my mother. Now after her death I take it back and place on a wall in my home.
Over thirty years ago
Finding a red rose
stained glass
five petals.
At a common thrift store
then, upon my wall
after, a gift to mother
upon her wall.
Now upon my wall, again
a symbol
now I know
it means good magic
supporting me
all along…
“Midsummer night upon the sword,
Knights and squires are standing guard,
In the grove knightly dance they tread
With torches and garlands of roses red”
~ Johannes Steenstrup, CHR The Medieval Popular Ballad, 1968
My mind challenges me all the time. It is an endless crematorium of my accomplishments or desires to create. I must say it is a blessing that something else, inside me, does not listen to these aimless shadow words. No matter how dark the shadow appears, I ascend to the light of the occasion to create. This time of year always seems to amplify the worst of the worst anyway. The longest day and the shortest night, seems ironically off.
Jupiter, Mars, Saturn and the full moon come along to celebrate tonight’s summer solstice this year. I have taken out a book, I have had a long time, and have started reading it again. Dimensions by Jacques Vallee. I post about him from time to time. He has whisked me away to so many other books. As a scientist he is also creative and intuitive. His perspective on tradition, folklore and UFOs always amazes me. With the many questions, alone, I have on these subjects, he alone, answers them; intense to say the least.
Proposition 1: The behavior of a superior race would not necessarily appear purposeful to a human observer. Scientists who brush aside UFO reports because “obviously intelligent visitors would not behave like that” simply have not given serious thought to the problem of nonhuman intelligence. Observation and deduction agree, in fact, that the organized action of a superior race must appear absurd to the inferior one…” Pg. 167.
I also like how he blends in the conversation of psychic and mystical with the UFO experience. Also that historically, this is a long going tradition that must not be ignored and viewed only scientifically. Knocks at the door when no one is there, lost time and space, and strange dreams are, in fact, nothing new. This all has been written about for a damn long time. Many traditions that go back for generations. As Jacques Vallee points out, “Ones that must not be forgotten or they die forever.”
So tonight, as I look into the night sky and see the wondrous lights there, I am thankful for this consistency and the mystery; within the darkness there is light!
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/aimless/
Punk Rock Colleague & Historian and Professional Consultant
Hudley Flipside
I have never been a record collector. I did have a little cheap tape recorder. I would record the music I liked, taken from a radio program, and play it over and over again. I duct-taped that little recorder on my bike and would play it while riding around the neighborhood, feeling the wind in my hair and the rhythm of the music pulsing through me. It was a simple joy, but it sparked a passion for music that I’ve carried with me ever since.
The Sex Pistols were my favorite. Their raw sound and rebellious attitude resonated deeply with me during my formative years. Everything I recorded was from KROQ when it was still free radio, a station known for its eclectic lineup that brought the freshest hits straight to my ears. It was current and on the cutting edge of what was happening in the music scene at that time, helping to cultivate my taste and broaden my horizons. Each song I captured on tape felt like a small adventure, a way to escape the ordinary and dive into a world filled with energy and intensity.
The music opened some doors for me, shaping not only my identity but also leading me to new friendships and experiences. I remember gathering with friends, sharing our favorite tracks, discussing the latest bands, and feeling a sense of connection through our love for music. Those moments were formative, and I cherish them. Yet, I can list the records I purchased myself from 1978 to 1989 and beyond, each one holding its own special place in my memory. If I could recount the stories of those albums, they would include the late-night trips to local record stores, the anticipation of listening to a new release for the first time, and the nostalgia of revisiting the sounds of my youth. Each record, though not an extensive collection, was a testament to my journey as a music lover, embodying the evolution of my tastes and the ever-changing landscape of the music world.
From 1979 to 1989 we at Flipside Fanzine received all our records free. Like many fanzines we performed a service to its readers and to the bands. (of course I will not list the endless supply of thrift store records that came and went for pennies…)
“Any review is a good review,” was my motto. Now I am comfortable with listening to YouTube freely. Any song I want is there for me. I can do what I have always done.
Don’t get me wrong, I spent a good 10 years addicted to the smell of fresh vinyl, but now I am amused by collectors and enjoy their company now and then. Before all this I listened to hand me down records via my siblings.
When I left Flipside I also left all the records, I did love, to the Flipside Record collective.
Records are a small slice of the pie for me and punk rock. Then, I preferred live shows, reading letters from punk fans and making friends.
Another two bits about the BIG PUNK ROCK… there are many stories from the BIG PUNK ROCK, this is just one story.
I reluctantly picked up a book that seemed to urge me to open it, and despite my hesitation, I obeyed its call.
“This investigation was rounded out by the Mysterium Coniunctionis, in which I once again took up the problem of the transference, but primarily followed my original intention of representing the whole range of alchemy as a kind of psychology of alchemy, or as an alchemical basis for depth psychology.
In Mysterium Coniunctionis my psychology was at last given its place in reality and established upon its historical foundations. Thus my task was finished, my work done, and now it can stand. The moment I touched bottom, I reached the bounds of scientific understanding, the transcendental, the nature of the archetype per se.”
A Carl Jung book.
