Sweet Maid

“Most people were in bands, if not they did magazines, records, owned stores did artwork etc… it was a scene that begged to be contributed to, and ripe with contributors… X-8 and Tory were in Low Budget, who made their Hollywood debut playing over the Dils at the Whisky, Larry Lash was in a weird Quick sort of band, Pooch was in a progressive (!) band, and I was their friend, couldn’t play anything, but still wanted to be involved [Al Flipside].”
Los Angeles Flipside Fanzine Issue #1 August 28, 1977.

I am not a musician. Sure, as a kid I played my parents old player piano. I could hear a song and I then played it on that old lovely musical hardwood black upright piano. My mom got me an acoustic guitar when I turned 16. Along with it was a record to learn chords. I did not follow it through.

I appreciate the lyrics and the sound. I have a knack for listening to the song in a way that is so satisfying to me and as my life went on, I found others like myself. Journalists, fanzine writers and ‘scenesters’ who supported a growing musical world. I will leave the real musicians and their creative genius to themselves. I sure love to hear and feel their songs though.

My dream last night took me to a multilevel club. It had a front door and back door; it had a bar and an outdoor patio. It was very easy to access. I had booked a one-day event to perform. I had my old guitar with me at all times. A guitar a band member gave me, and we had cut out the “Quaker Maid” milk symbol from a large ‘sheet metal sign’ to place on the front of my guitar.

Why I pulled that old guitar I had from the 80s into my dream seems strange to me. I also had my old fender amp.

There was a small stage in the bar where I practiced. Realizing I did not have a clue what I was doing. Yet when I touched my sweet maid, it made a loud punk sound. I thought this to myself while dreaming,

“I am going to go on stage here and play for my friends. Not having a clue what I am doing, I will just improvise … like I always do,”

The first person who greeted me at the door was Shawn Stern. He was drinking a beer and seemed very happy. Then as I walked through the club. The club was peppered with many characters, and I thought to myself,

“I will play a chord from my sweet maid and then read something from an editorial from an old issue of Flipside. Maybe this can be a spoken word event with improvised guitar sounds?”

Hudley, Glen E. Friedman, Shawn Stern, Lee Ving. Taken from Let Them Know 2008; The Story of Youth Brigade and BYO Records. /Stern Brothers.

Outside on the patio I sat with a couple of gals who were talking about another show. I was cool with that and then walked in Cliff Roman.

“The guys at that show were wearing TUXEDOS.”

He had a upside down smile on his face when I smiled at him as I was holding my sweet maid. Cliff was wearing all black with a big oomphy black sweater.

I realized I was at a club without my mask on. It felt so good to be out and about again. No fear and happy to be hanging out at a club again with others.

Then I awoke. I don’t go out to events now. It seems like I still do in my dreams…

When the ladies

They lay in my garden stretched out naked, looking like fairy queens, sylphs, nymphs or sirens.

It was a big day. Promoter Posh Boy was coming to the house with an all-girl band. I arranged a room to use as a decision place and for video production. It was the work that I was ready for, to produce a music video.

When the ladies arrived with Posh Boy I was taken back on how diverse they all were from each other. One looked like a punk princess and another like a heavy metal queen. One looked like a 17-year-old Tina Turner and one like a colorful anime cartoon. The four of them seemed pretentious and demanding.

Posh Boy pulled out a big silver spoon and a large hypodermic needle with a huge mound of white stuff. I told them that there could not do that stuff in the house. They rolled their eyes and went outside in the garden.

While they were outside I noticed that the living room was now filled with water and small yellow water balloons floating on top. It felt soft. I was floating on air too. I went outside to gather the ladies for a talk and suggest some ideas about the video. I saw them outside and it was a strange image to grasp. They lay in my garden stretched out naked, looking like fairy queens, sylphs, nymphs or sirens. It was like a poem, surreal and amazing to witness. They were part of the earth and one held up her arm as lady of the lake.

“And never did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a naiad or a grace Of finer form or lovelier face…….” ― Walter Scott, The Lady of the Lake

We all moved back into the house where I advised them on some topics of syncing music with their movement. One of the ladies that looked like a young Tina Turner told me this,

“I have my own movements… like this,” and she danced with a strange movement of her own.

“OK, I think I would like to have all of you doing you own movements while shooting this video. We will focus on each one of you in the music video.”

My dream faded away … another summer dream under Pluto.

Slight but it is right!

save this now — conductor 71 from the 1946 film A matter of life and death

A publisher now and a documentarian. A professional Punk Historian and Professional consultant. I have my publishing company in my bedroom converted into a office. Achieving many of my dreams here and I am blessed by the praying mantis.

Happy Winter Solstice 2022 & Auld Lang Syne New Year 2023

II. Love’s Nature Love
Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832)

“…In peace, Love tunes the shepherd’s reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;
In hamlets, dances on the green.
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

True love’s the gift which God has given
To man alone beneath the heaven;
It is not fantasy’s hot fire,
Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly;
It liveth not in fierce desire,
With dead desire it doth not die;
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind…”

Thirty years ago, as a publisher of a small underground fanzine I helped out many bands and individuals. It was an unofficial official job. Lots of work every day. As the years went on, I kept my mouth shut and did my job. I had many opportunities to confront and talk to the punk oligarchy that presided in our office home.

I turned away and did not speak up. If I had the opportunity to speak up now and go back and confront the internal control that moved like a rip tide toward magazines, records, and videos, I would have stood up and defined my needs as a member at the table of true anarchy.

A place of communication and ideas. Here is what I would say,

“I want to publish books and open up a coffee shop.”

This was before that mermaid opened her fins and poured her vast empire of java. Little up-town Whittier California was prime at that time. It would be a place of publishing, art, good coffee and maybe some beer for sale too! This idea still pivots in my mind since reading a book during the late 1970’s.

I have lost the name of the book or the author. The book’s title is “Spooky Foot” or close to that. I do know the general ideas and concepts in the book. There was a woman who was a very sensitive person. She engaged in an artist underground movement. In her biography she lived in England, and she opened up an art center, coffee shop, music live, gallery, beer shop. It was a place for all ages and kinds of people to come together and be creative.

To share their inspirations. Oh yes, the best part is that the author of this book said one of her dreams was to open a small publishing company in her back house. Small but respectable and she achieved her goal. That is what I would have changed back then.

So, I try to live up to that invisible dream still. Slight but it is right.

Elfenlied

At midnight, when asleep are men at length,
Then shines for us the moon,
Then gleams for us the star,
We rove and dance and sing
Nor gay till then we are.

At midnight, when asleep are men at length,
We seek the alder grove,
And in the pale moonbeam,
We rove about and sing,
And gaily dance a dream.

~ Goethe

English translation by W.G. Thomas

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/drawing-a-blank/

Two Dresses

Two dreams I had last week were very similar. They both were set in an environment of celebration. Everything was vague. I knew the people but they were also unrecognizable. A thread I pulled from both dreams that I remember clearly focused on dresses made just for me.

The First dream there was a green 1940s backless dress. I looked at it closely as I hung it in my closet. I felt beautiful. It fit me wonderfully.

In the next dream the second dress was from the 1800s. I stood and molded while a woman fitted me. It was a beautiful peach blossom color with a subtle glow of orange. I felt delighted, feminine and filled with wonder over such a lovely dress.

Running From A Mad Doctor

“The image of rain as redemptive symbolizing the tears of transformation, comes up in many women’s dreams and it is a frequent image in the poet’s vision. “
~ Linda S. Leonard

Waking up as from a bad dream. I was holding a gun with the barrel down towards the earth. I thought over the dream…

“Call 911,” I yelled.
The women’s face and the graduation ceremonies seemed to ignore my screams. I only had a t-shirt on. Running from a mad doctor who was diagnosing what illness we had and how we would die. We all were asked to line up against the wall. Then we were asked to stretch out on the shelves. The friendly man with the leather jacket was there with his hand around my shoulders. He remembered my face from the day before.
“Your face looks familiar!”
Where is my husband? After I found him again we are back in line, and at this point back to where I grabbed the gun. The mad doctor already shot it. Now he had the gun and a big knife on the table as he asked his questions. The mad doctor turned his back to us. I took the opportunity to grab the gun and I ran out of a building into a crowded dark park. I am coming home from a bad dream!!

Breathing very hard I awoke from the dream with a sound of a lamenting cat. I closed the door. I did not want him in. I do not want to hear him. Around the house I heard his lamenting: lamenting, lamenting and lamenting. He is a rooster-cat as the sun is rising. Feeling hot and cold and running to get the cat food, I opened the can and chopped the cat food up; also opening the door to let one in and one cat out. I ran back to a hot cold bed. A bounding idea pushed its way into my sleepy fast beating heart as I said to myself,

“maybe I should have not run away. I could have shot the mad doctor in the foot instead?”

Comforting my mind…my mind…in my mind I thought;

“I will shoot the doctor in the foot. I am thinking… I am shooting him as he turns to look at me….now!! Let all the people suppress him now and stop our torturer!!”

Up from bed with coffee. I sit to read the above quote about rain… as it is also raining now.