I love watching Westerns. I have my favorite channels. All the actors that played the cowboy game through the many years is amazing. Yet in truth the American cowboy days were short. Fifteen years after the civil war through the building of the train industry and barbed wire.
The Spaniards and Mexicans were challenged by Native Indians and then the Europeans. Carelessly leaving their horses and cattle to be taken over and bred by these new propagated cowboys. It is a brutal history as well as a beautiful one as in the current film Painted Woman. A woman was a mother, whore or missionary. Nevertheless, the women are robust and hearty characters as in the film True Grit where a young girl outsmarts many a gun shooting cowboy and avenges her father’s death.
A decade and a half are a short time for towns and saloons to be alive for this massive movement of the wild days of traveling and roaming cowboys. Then barbed wire and the movement of cattle by way of the train into mass slaughterhouses. To roam the prairie was gone.
I love these films as I do Noir films. Adventure, mystery the good and the bad guys and always the femme fatale or saloon lady entertainers.
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!
“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.
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.”
Al Jaffee, King of the Mad Magazine Fold-In, Dies at 102
“Allan Jaffee (born Abraham Jaffee; March 13, 1921 – April 10, 2023) was an American cartoonist. He was notable for his work in the satirical magazine Mad, including his trademark feature, the Mad Fold-in. Jaffee was a regular contributor to the magazine for 65 years and is its longest-running contributor. In a 2010 interview, Jaffee said, “Serious people my age are dead.”
Too much listening to Elton John and remembering my crush on Bernie Taupin. Foggy dreams. Dreams where the threads of remembering can’t be pulled down into this world.
A changing mixture of memories swirling around me that I have experienced in real time. Remembering my, heart heart ~fun fun, days as a youth and teenager.
As sitting under the pool table in the boy’s room reading Mad Magazine and Playboy. Alfred E. Neuman or cartoonist Gahan Wilson, Allan Jaffee or Jack Davis went on to inspire me in my own fanzine days.
Where I created images or doodled between the pages.
Magazines are now becoming obsolete. Newspapers stands too except for the billionaires that do resurrect some.
A fight that is not going to win.
To my teachers that came from those awesome perverted magazines.
Thus it is our fate to manage within our nature the complexity and the competition of two opposing tendencies: that which stands with life and love (the Dionysian) and that which is greedy, power hungry, and ego-driven (the Titanic).
Aguilar, A. Marina. Alchemy of The Heart: The Sacred Marriage of Dionysos & Ariadne . Chiron Publications. Kindle Edition.
The Grecian god Dionysius sat enthroned on a leopard.
PUNK ROCK COLLEAGUE & HISTORIAN AND PROFESSIONAL CONSULTANT HUDLEY FLIPSIDE
Centrifuge Going So Swiftly
“And we went to California and up and down the Pacific Coast for a day and a half, settling at last on the sands of Malibu to cook wieners at night. Dad was always listening or singing or watching things on all sides of him, holding onto things as if the world were a centrifuge going so swiftly that he might be flung off away from us at any instant.”
~Ray Bradbury. The Rocket Man
“I’ve been a cunt since 1975.”- Elton John
Rocket Man explained a lot about Elton John that confused me since 1975. I love autobiographical stories and memoirs. What a joy! Elton John shared his psyche with the world. A healed psyche that was given more then a second chance.
The film has that real deal 1970s thing going that sprang forth from the late 1960s. The chance that two genius dudes like Elton John and Bernie Taupin found each other is amazing. So grateful! I enjoyed the integrity, depth and darkness shared in this film. The world of rock & roll was not romanticized.
Fun musical choreographed dance scenes moved through the film. Bernie Taupin’s lyrics enhanced by being sung clearly and slowly made me want to sing and dance along.
I love Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s music especially the years between 1971-1974. I include in this review a conclusion with an early song written 1971 entitled Friends. I think the song Friends was a song of amazing foresight. As if Bernie knew the journey ahead would be a difficult one. Especially for Reginald Kenneth Dwight!
“Friends is a 1971 teen-romance film directed and produced by Lewis Gilbert and written by Gilbert, Vernon Harris, and Jack Russell. The soundtrack, with music composed by Elton John and Paul Buckmaster, and lyrics written by Bernie Taupin, was released as the Friends album, and John’s recording of the title selection charted when released as a single in the United States.”
Wildflowers have taught me to be authentic. You cannot mess with a wildflower. It does its own thing. Too much water or love and if will die. One must look at a wildflower with a sideways glance. Appreciation is appreciated. Don’t expect a sweetness without an inward determination or discernment from the wild thing.
Euphrosyne is a Goddess of Good Cheer, Joy and Mirth. Her name is the female version of a Greek word euphrosynos, which means “merriment”. The Greek poet Pindar states that these goddesses were created to fill the world with pleasant moments and good will. Usually the Charites attended the goddess of beauty Aphrodite.
Today while shopping the Sunday crowds were noticeable. The checkout lane was accepted. Yet even with the self-checkout open and the fifteen items or less open, two young men with several Styrofoam cups wanted to go first. They loomed close to me. Thinking my old woman ways would be forgiving and stupid to the fact they would eventually ask the question.
And then it happened the young man said,
“Can you do us a favor…”
I said with well learned flower intention and assertion,
“No. There is a self-checkout over there and a fifteen or less over there. Otherwise, you need to chill and wait like the rest of us.”
I went ahead with the checkout process. These two young men then decided to enter my space. I had to tell them to please step back.
“You need to step back because you are invading my space.”
They were in front of the cash check machine. I had to bag my things. They were shaking their heads like I was playing the wrong card.
You cannot expect older mamas to be sweetie pie by force. If these two young men were older and needed my help, I would have let them through and bagged for them. But these guys thought wrong about me.
It felt good to say “no” and “back off.”
I did not use fuck, or stupid or use my hand finger. I was assertive and authentic like the wildflowers in my garden.
The Avengers, The Dils and The Alley Cats + many special guests (A Celebration of the Life of Jimmy Wilsey) at Echoplex
Before the show I went to an Italian Restaurant nearby. I sat at the bar and had a Guinness and a plate of pasta.
Part of my DNA
It will be the time to join with punk comrades and celebrate our originators and characters of the early California punk scene. The Avengers, the Dils and the Alley Cats.
Before The Avengers went on a DJ at the event played The Saints – (I’m) Stranded. The sound went on and I swear the earth moved as the song grabbed my spine… an earthquake…. it was a Saints’ Hallelujah “amber” moment.
Just got this from a friend… a nice treat that makes life bearable. (signed copy and 2024 November The Saints Tour)
Once someone dies, their life becomes a story, infinite, Like a song forever more.
Back then it was a tight underground, alternative punk rock scene. Bands were unclassified and their songs unique. I found myself melting into a wild alchemy of youths that had something new to say.
We were finding our voice. All the unknown characters were there. Nobody creates a scene alone. Seeing punk bands during the early Los Angeles punk scene, I was not always aware of all the members in the band.
Instead, the feel of drums, bass and guitar grabbed me into a wild joyful submission. After a few times seeing a band, the lyrics and the vocals brought depth and understanding to any band’s song.
I was shaking to the sounds, wanting to go to all the shows. After getting involved with Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine all the players, in the bands, became focused and clear. I listened to their voices.
I got to know them on a personal level. I went from being a face in the crowd to writing about punk bands and getting to know band members as friends.
The sound of the Avengers was my grounding or anchoring into that early punk scene. Those first days I awoke……
It was fantastic! The Dils I learned about indirectly through other Flipside staff writers.
The Alley Cats was the band, they were the heart of the early punk scene which I got to know the best at that time.
Jimmy was a part of that scene.
I did not know him personally but indirectly. Yet his sound moved me into states of wild frenzy. I am grateful for all the vinyl records that contain that story, song, or sound of our youthful rebellion. Of Jimmy’s youthful rebellion.
Yet a “live” band is always best. It is great to still be here, currently, part of our punk rock history. Thanks to Randy and Penelope for letting me speak today. To show my love and respect.
We were wild and knew all the songs by heart by The Dils, The Alley Cats and the Avengers.
I will be there handing out some badges joining in the event in memory of our youthful rebellion that is still the heartbeat of this crazy continuity of punk rock that still drives our DNA onward.
(Update I now run a publishing business and working with upgrading my ideology on profit and sharing while creating a professional and friendship-based community.)
I am not a feminist or a professional businesswoman. I took the more traditional path as a wife and mother. I am also an entrepreneur. I find I can balance the male and female within myself. Jungian Psychology calls this balancing the Anima and Animus.
I am creatively involved in projects that have meaning to me and beyond myself or the extramundane. I am naturally a supportive person that likes home, intimate relationships, and small pubs.
My goals are based on love, not profit. Yet, I am learning to be very happy to cross the bridge of financial stability and independence. (If I ever reach that place?)
I dedicate this day to the character Maggie Paul played by Marsha Mason from the film Cinderella Liberty (1973). I like her feel. A trapped feeling of being between worlds. A strange but appropriate place to be for many women.
“Please believe me Oh well, please believe me Please believe me I swear I Swear”
I didn’t speak much when I was young. Was not interested in writing either. Only a few poems. I played with my friends, but I found it more and more difficult to communicate at school. I felt restricted, invisible, or persecuted by my own peers. I was wild and not awake to the pounding of an education that seemed incredulous to me.
I now realize I had foresight, creativity and a natural spiritualism that could not find contact. Nature was receptive! My mom and dad tried with lots of watercolors and paper. A giant black board was painted in my room. Endless chalk drawings were created and erased, drawn, and erased. The old player piano in the boys’ room is where I spent hours playing any song I wanted that I learned by heart only.
Did I not express myself in school because of fear? Was it the constant fighting and alcoholism in my household which pushed my mind down into myself? Was it dyslexic, autism or a painful shyness that was the bewildering issue within me? We the children were not diagnosed back then.
Having foresight was a curse when no one listened! I did not have the proper device, neither did I have the wise ability to reach out towards others. I did not have a voice!
Now at 60 (66) I realize my heart & mind are mature and keen enough to reach my inward growing child. That is my reasoning currently to create a hub like The Seminary Of Praying Mantis Publishing.
To share my voice and reach a global community! I believe this is the truth. Finding one’s voice and sticking to it is wonderful. The years on WordPress has helped to make this happen.
While spending a few hours observing nature this afternoon. I know that the many voices were loud and some subtle. The chirp-chirp birds, to the black ravens on tall cypress trees. Above me high in the sky are the circling hawks and the commercial jets. Sounds of life. One drop of rain touched me. I am one drop of rain too.
I invite you to support The Seminary of Praying Mantis Publishing and celebrate with me. I have words to read, items for sale and images to make you laugh. I have grown as a writer, author, and artist.
It is amazing that so many tools are available where one can publish ones’ works! It can be achieved very cheaply and sometimes even for free as with Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing. I have taken the core of my punk philosophy, wild nature, foresight, and freedom to communicate with the world. I found a place to express myself. It is colorfully rewarding.
Letter To: Councilmember District 3 Bob Blumenfield, 200 N Spring St. Los Angeles, CA 90012
“I was born in Encino. I grew up in Woodland Hills. I have watched as the big ugly apartments have taken over the San Fernando Valley. I find it so refreshing to hear “large scale apartments should not be wedged in-between single-family homes by right.”
I have a campaign that focuses on this. I have enclosed a copy. I hope you will support my fight. These big ugly apartments use too much energy and create too much traffic.
We need to support the people living here now. More libraries, more high schools, more DMVs. More social services.
I also am sharing my book “To Ride a Painted Pony Wild.” I share my youth riding the hills of Woodland Hills. I shared a story about when Canoga Ave. was a two-lane street. Near Ventura Blvd was a stable which housed a lovely red barn, whereas young girls marveled at the horse tack and leather saddles going back generations. Even Horse Buggy Parts and all the tools to care for horses.
I drove down Canoga Ave the other day. It was a shock to me to see all the apartments going up. Right next to the freeway. All the eucalyptus and pepper trees cut down. Do you remember when it was a lazy two-lane highway?”
The 1970s, The San Fernando Valley and The Santa Monica Mountains
Horses and their girls….
During a tumultuous era marked by global unrest and climate change, I recall a hopeful time shaped by nature, integrity, and innocence. Elton John’s music and Bernie Taupin’s lyrics amplified these experiences. My autobiographical novella, set in the San Fernando Valley and nearby California counties, follows three years of friendship and horseback riding through the Santa Monica Mountains. The story offers a journey into the female psyche and evokes memories of an untamed Valley, with “Madman Across the Water” and “Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only the Piano Player” providing the soundtrack as my friends and I sang Bernie Taupin’s lyrics during our rides.
Excerpt from beginning of Chapter Three.
3. HEADLESS HORSEMAN ROAD
A song we were singing ~ All the Nasties – By Elton John, Lyrics by Bernie Taupin
Canoga Avenue from Mulholland to Oxnard was overwhelmingly wild in the 1970s. It was only a two-lane avenue lined with some residential homes, farms, and empty fields. The enormous eucalyptus trees monstered along Canoga Avenue exalting the heart of Woodland Hills. We chased wild rabbits bareback where the city of Warner Center now suffocates the land.
Stealing pumpkins late at night from the many pumpkin patches was a scary treat for us kids around autumn. Now Kaiser Permanente stands tall over ghostly pumpkins which linger there only in my mind.
Ruff and I rode our horses after school which did not give us much time. We had to make it back home around dusk. This gave us a couple of hours to ride. We had it in our minds to visit down an old dirt road up near Canoga Ave., moving south towards Mulholland. We noticed this dirt road a few times on our rides up to Mulholland where it seemed endless trails awaited us, but now was not the time.
The dirt road branched off to the east and seemed a long one. The everyday valley trees mixed and mingled along the road with large rough trunks and heavy-handed branches. A small forest. We got off our horses to look around.
I worked for the Visiting Nurse Association as a Home Health Aide in Santa Cruz California back in 1991. I enjoyed helping the elderly, sick and crippled. I comforted them and attended to their simple needs of washing, food, and medicine. I loved their stories they shared. Most of my patients were in their 90s and their lifetimes were filled with a richness that I yearned for. They shared their stores with me.
I will share a story of Mary. She was alone in her parents’ home. A beautiful Victorian home near the shores of Santa Cruz. Only one room was used for Mary. All the other rooms, which were many, were closed off. The stairs that went to her room were something out of the novel Gone with The Wind. And to the right of these majestic stairs was a giant Ballroom with a crystal chandelier where Mary told me her stories. In the room where she lived was a single bed and a small bathroom with bath. On the wall was a painting of a lovely sailing ship. The painting was of her father’s ship. It was a family ship. She told me that she came from a sea family. It was a merchant family business.
As the times changed her family and Mary took to living on the land. She was born and raised on a ship. She knew the ocean well. Standing on ground was difficult for her as a young lady. Eventually she married. Santa Cruz was a cowboy town at the time. She told me one night when her husband made his usual advances towards her. She declined and fell asleep. He went off to the bars to sleep with a prostitute. He gave Mary gonorrhea and after that she could not have any children. It took some time, but she forgave him.
This is a poem about Mary and our walk to her special place. She told me that the wild animals that lived there sometimes would pop up in her toilet. Small rats, squirrels and lizards would sometimes appear. It did not look all that bad to me. Yet, I can only imagine how it once was.
“In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.”
~ Robert Green Ingersoll
Today while walking into Ralph’s supermarket, I saw the familiar old lady under yellow plastic. She was holding a white tissue to her red nose. She sat in her wheelchair at a prime target getting her ‘a little sympathy’. She got mine. I went into the store and purchased a $1.95 Starbucks house coffee medium. I am still amazed that a ‘cup of joe’ costs so much now. I remember when it was 25 cents.
“I like watching Noir films,”
I said to the barista.
“It is a wonder in those films that a ‘cup of joe’ only cost five pennies. Twenty-five cents got you a cup of coffee, a ham sandwich, and a piece of pie.”
The barista smiled at me as I got the coffee. I put in some cream and sugar and then headed towards the old lady in a wheelchair.
“Here is a cup of coffee, you look cold.?!”
“I don’t drink coffee it is bad for you.”
“Really, I thought it would warm you up. Coffee is not as bad for you as you may think.”
“I have never had any.”
She looked down to her right at a dirty bag of oranges.
“It is all right I had an orange…I am fine.”
I was a bit upset. I never thought that she would reject a cup of coffee on such a cold and rainy day.
“Lady sometimes beggars can’t be choosers?!”
I realized that I could not reason with the lady. She had her right to say no. So, I walked on remembering what an old myth taught me. All about a woman’s psyche.
As Persephone went on her journey, she was advised not to give anything to those needy people who asked for something along the way. It was important for her to hold on to her strength and parts of herself that were precious.
I failed the test today. Then that sorrow thread pulled in me. I call it the thread of sorrow.
I think that our current society does not embrace their share of sorrow. That is why we have so many drug addicts and alcoholics. A social epidemic.
We all need to hold on to or embrace our threads of sorrow.
It can pull hard.
It can be an echo that mocks.
It can sting like a jelly-fish.
When we run from our share of sorrow,
ignore it,
or get lost in our addictions hating it,
it only manifests in our world as a monster shadow.
Creating hate, chaos, and terrible politicians.
That is why I love Jazz because it speaks to the human heart and soul.
The unpredictable Crazy days are far behind me, and the routines of life have set in.
Family and cats bring the little rituals of life which bring symmetry into the chaos of living such as racing through traffic and surviving, watching current politics, and not having a heart attack, and realizing that we all die.
It is comforting to know that we live in a recycling universe, or so it seems. The point being within the light and darkness of life are the routines of everyday living that do bring joy.
Last night was a normal trash night. The difference in the routine is when husband said that there are two cars parked in our unmarked-marked trashcan places. The usual sounds of annoyance on his part made me think about visiting with our new neighbors and asking them to move one of the cars so we might have a place for our trashcans.
The green sweat coat with 1976 on it pulled over my shoulders and I was off. I found myself in front of the neighbor’s house. Placing a knock knock and then pushing a ring ring upon their door and door button. Something expanded when I heard the ring ring.
It was a different kind of ring ring. It being a tasteful and alluring sound. The front door was half window, and I could see in as one of my neighbors looked back at me. I mumbled something about the trashcans. The neighbor’s eyes widened open.
Dressed in a light blue robe, looking confused, my neighbor opened the door slightly. Having a face that was angular like something out of a Pablo Picasso painting such as Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, 1907 during his cubism period; caught me off guard.
The new neighbors had radically changed the format and structure of the house since the last owner. As the door opened there was only a white hallway that met about halfway through the house. Directly on the wall before me was a giant painting of what looked like a Toulouse-Lautrec, Jane Avril Dancing painting.
Yet this painting was one woman with her leg up and a giant red dress like a blooming flower. Once there were two rooms here, one leading right and one left. One into a game room and the other into the kitchen. Not anymore. Straight ahead was a veil into another reality.
Our conversation was quick. I told the neighbor our problem. I was told that each of them had a massage therapist come out for a special treat massage and that the cars were theirs. I was also told that both were almost finished.
Like clockwork each masseuse left in their two separate cars. I put out my two trash cans under the crescent moon of a very dark night. Feeling nicely surreal and wondering about our new neighbors?
I wish I could say that they turned out to be nice… the neighbors got worse and worse and now they have moved.
His beauty was notable even in a province where the lack of it is more exceptional in a young man. It was the sort of beauty that is celebrated by the heroic male sculptures in the fountains of Rome. Two things disguised it a little, the dreadful poverty of his clothes and his stealth of manner. The only decent garment he wore was a black overcoat which was too small for his body. Its collar exposed a triangle of bare ivory flesh; no evidence of a shirt. The trouser-cuffs were coming to pieces. Naked feet showed through enormous gaps in his shoe leather. He seemed to want to escape the attention which his beauty invited, for whenever he caught a glance he turned aside from it. He kept his head lowered and his body hunched slightly forward. And yet he had an air of alertness. The tension of his figure suggested that he was continually upon the verge of raising his voice or an arm in some kind of urgent call or salutation.
~Williams, Tennessee. The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (New Directions Bibelot) (Kindle Locations 22-24). New Directions. Kindle Edition.
Rendering of Flowers, lemon and Turkish Tea Pot… to be water colored soon by Hudley
Tennessee Williams wrote only two novels, The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (1950, adapted into a film in 1961, and again in 2003) and Moise and the World of Reason (1975) I have watched the 1961 film several times. Haunted by the film as many are, I had to read the novel to answer some questions that I have. So, the above quote is so beautifully tragic that I am taken to my youth and my world now as a senior citizen. Yet, the description above reminds me of the many young beauty punks I knew in my youthful years. I think, or should I say know… describes what I feel and saw back then. So perfect…. A door to a writer an education by him… what joy I feel. The right time and place to understand where I can alchemise his magic… a balancing of love and disdain I am sure.
Here is my latest praying mantis caricature. A holiday greeting from long ago ancient times.
Attis brings Liberte’
At the darkness time of the year, the longest night, the winter solstice… here comes some ancient anthropomorphism… and praying mantis is here to make life so meaningful.
Ritual is good. Songs bring in the seasons. In this dark time ‘song ritual’ help to ease the scorn and unbelievable with something sane and consistent. The skins of my large white beans are shedding away as they boil in the pot. There are times when I feel like these large white beans.
Today during my heart-focused breathing I was surprised to feel a pinpoint of joy dance upon my heart. Faces of love smiled before me and I was grateful. I cried for those released from this Earth, this planet.
What a mystery it all is. I talked to my oldest son. He said he was listening to a tape about the Ten Hermetic Keys of Hermes Trismegistus.
The mental origin of the world and of man.
Corresponding harmonics.
Dynamics of alternation.
Bi-polarity and complementarity.
Cyclic repolarizations.
Cause and effect.
Gender.
The astrology of the Ogdoad.
The magic of the Ennead.
10 The alchemy of the Decad.
This caught me off guard. So, I looked it up. I showed him my watercolor that contains this in a kind alchemical way.
